V j ! el I : i ^ 

f }*'»«: . '!r 


IMHh 


;tuia(U 








w .. 




WlfpWrH 




Hr. 


t U »! 




■■■MHi 








pwwfifSiiiil 

■IwllwM 

hHiSlLfutisM f>? 


■ j| 8 J !**• |!| 1 j S tffHffi : «i®imTO If 

f 4 * il.'i'lM ill., :■(: ", 'f -> I 

ilW' > 3 1 (t i iM 




mmm 


IJkHi 




ml 


U I 




It:) I] 


I ?:* 


•ip i! 








i’ilU 


3Pfel?i 

timp 


.',•, ; ,• m iu 


! 


Dit i 


» » • 


‘ * ti! »,), 




Mil 


l Uti 


VT5CT.J 


IU! 


!:||l 




■HAmi • 


ill 


*53 


wiillm 

> re » i i*i 

{JimsiiHsljiWs 




*#s 


' ) ii) i;i 

:. 


wil 










m. 




Pi 


ri«f) 


1 1 , 7 1 1 




t)ii!ii 




■Rjjj? 1 .'i:i‘i«jf,i ‘ijjj [im 
^rjH LI ' ■ Lji * < ■ ■ 

W\ K jji ibi® 
MB wsffiMf » 


* n o:* i < »u 


i 


■ ■ ... ..ife'jWJBt 


IW&MiWwwiws 

Uiiliticifijwlff ij) i»??fnt tffci'iliMttP, 


1 , 

lii«^ 

k'<i(ii;»it. i iwn/flwti »*{}/?»?• hidPtftf 




it fi 


«**» rfTij/511 

* 1 (W # 

lIvKflr 
mjsk; 


MM 


Hii 


PWlliWi 

! li ffl |< f| 

liiH. .-Mi J hiIiu! liriiji* ’ i HH 1 /; Ml i f I w i H»*n 

fwfiilwlw 


BISPaPMi 


: ! < i-i fJ 

nr Hi 




[m!l! 




m 




#:f 1 : 


iHi 


Writ 1 iW 

figjjimjjjjjgifi 




t ,i\r hlij M#?r %l 

1 IviTt*** f' I*/* 

imU 


■ *ii ii 


imfio: 


? J 1: f if 











% 








% 


4 . 







<4 

















V, 















^- 4 * 
















































• . 












































































































































































































BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 


The Trespasser. i2mo. Paper, 50 
cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

“Interest, pith, force, and charm— Mr. Parker’s story 
possesses all these qualities. . . . Almost bare of syn- 
thetical decoration, his paragraphs are stirring because 
they are real W e read at times— as we have read the 
great masters of romance — breathlessly. . . . In Mr. Parker 
we feel that a prophet has arisen, and we hope for him 
great and greater years.” — 1 he Critic. 

“Gilbert Parker writes a strong novel, but thus far this 
is his masterpiece. ... It is one of the great novels of the 
year.” — Boston Advertiser . 

“ . . A picturesque, imaginative study.” — San Fran- 
cisco Chronicle. 

“ ‘The Trespasser’ tells a thoroughly interesting story 
with great spirit and admirable literary skill. The charac- 
ter drawing is notably clever.” — Boston Saturday Even- 
ing Gazette. 

The Translation of a Savage. 

i2mo. Flexible cloth, 75 cents. 

“A gracefully and effectively written and very clever 
story by a very clever writer.” — New York Commercial 
A dvertiser. 

“Unique in plot and subject, and holds the interest 
from the first page to the last ''—Detroit / ree Press. 

“ A story of remarkable interest, originality, and in- 
genuity in construction.” — Boston Home Journal. 


New York: D. Appleton & Co., 72 Fifth Avenue. * 




THE 

TRAIL OF THE SWORD 


J\S\ 





BY 

GILBERT PARKER 

AUTHOR OF 

THE TRESPASSER, THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE, 
PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE, ETC. 



NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1894 


% 


:r^ 


Copyright, 1894 , 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


DEDICATION, 


My dear Father: 

Once many years ago , in a kind of despair, you were 
impelled to say that I would never be any thing but “a ras- 
cally lawyer” This, it may be, sat upon your conscience, 
for later you turned me gravely towards Paley and the 
Thirty-nine Articles ; and yet I know that in your soldier’s 
heart you really pictured me, how unavailingly , in scarlet and 
pipe-clay , and with active sabre, like yourself in youth and 
manhood. In all I disappointed you, for I never had a brief 
or a parish, and it was another son of yours who carried on 
your military hopes. But as some faint apology — I almost dare 
hope, some recompense — for what must have seemed wilfulness, 
I send you now this story of a British soldier and his “ dear 
maid” ; which has for its background the old city of Quebec, 
whose high ramparts you walked first sixty years ago, and for 
setting, those valiant fightings, which, as I have heard you say, 
“ through God’s providence and James Wolfe gave England her 
best possession.” 

You will, I feel sure, quarrel with the fashion of my cam- 
paigns and be troubled by my anachronisms ; but I beg you to 
remember that long ago you gave my young mind much distress, 
when yon told that wonderful story, how you, one man, “ sur- 
rounded ” a dozen enemies, and drove them prisoners to head- 

(iii) 


IV 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


quarters. “ Surrounded ” may have been mere lack of precision, 
but it serves my turn now, as you see. You once were — and 1 
am precise here — a gallant swordsman : there are legends yet of 
your doings with a crack Dublin bully. Well, in the last chap- 
ter of this tale you shall find a duel which may recall those early 
days of this century , when your blood was hot and your hand 
ready. You would be distrustful of the details of this scene did 
I not tell you that though the voice is Jacob's the hand is an- 
other's. Swordsmen are not now so many, in the Army or out of 
it, that among them Mr. Walter Hemes Pollock's name will 
have escaped you; so, if you quarrel, let it be with Esau; 
though, having good reason to be grateful to him, that would 
cause me regret. 

My dear father, you are travelling midway between eighty 
and ninety years with great health and cheerfulness ; it is my 
hope you may top the arch of your good and honourable life 
with a century keystone. 

Believe me, sir , 

Your affectionate son, 

Gilbert Parker. 


A NOTE. 


The actors in this little drama played their parts, 
on the big stage of a new continent, two hundred 
years ago. Despots sat upon the thrones of France 
and- England, and their representatives on the Hud- 
son and the St. Lawrence were despots too, with 
greater opportunity and to better ends. In Canada, 
Frontenac quarrelled with his Intendant and his 
Council, set a stern hand upon the Church when 
she crossed with his purposes, cajoled, treated with, 
and fought the Indians by turn, and cherished a 
running quarrel with the English Governor of New 
York. They were striving for the friendship of the 
Iroquois on the one hand, and for the trade of the 
Great West on the other. The French, under such 
men as La Salle, had pushed their trading posts west- 
ward to the great lakes and beyond the Missouri, and 
north to the shores of Hudson’s Bay. They traded 
(v) 


VI 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


and fought and revelled, hot with the spirit of adven- 
ture, the best of pioneers and the worst of colonists. 
Tardily, upon their trail, came the English and the 
Dutch, slow to acquire but strong to hold ; not so 
rash in adventure, nor so adroit in intrigue ; as fond 
of fighting, but with less of the gift of the woods, and 
much more the faculty for government. There was 
little interchange of friendliness and trade between 
the rival colonists ; and Frenchmen were as rare on 
Manhattan Island as Englishmen on the heights of 
Quebec — except as prisoners. 


CONTENTS. 


EPOCH THE FIRST. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — An Envoy Extraordinary 1 

II. — The Threat of a Renegade . . . .12 

III. — The Face at the Window 27 

IV. — The Uplifting of the Swords .... 37 

V. — The Fruits of the Law 47 

VI. — The Kidnapping 55 

EPOCH - THE SECOND. 

VII. — Friends in Council 69 

VIII. — As seen through a Glass Darkly ... 93 

IX. — To the Porch of the World .... 104 

X. — Qui Vive ! Ill 

XI. — With the Strange People . . . .125 

XII. — Out of the Net 135 

EPOCH THE THIRD. 

XIII. — “ As Water unto Wine ” 150 

XIV. — In which the Hunters are Out . . . 165 

XV. — In the Matter of Bucklaw . . . .172 

XVI. — In the Treasure House ..... 188 

XVII. — The Gift of a Captive 201 

XVIII. — Maiden no more 208 

(vii) 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


viii 

EPOCH THE FOURTH. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX. — Which tells of a Brother’s Blood Crying 

from the Ground 217 

XX. — A Trap is Set 239 

XXI. — An Untoward Messenger 244 

XXII. — From Tiger’s Claw to Lion’s Mouth . . 255 
XXIII.— At the Gates of Misfortune .... 259 
XXIV. — In which the Sword is Sheathed . . . 264 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


(Spot I) tl )c .first. 

CHAPTER I. 

AIT EiTVOY EXTRAORDINARY. 

One summer afternoon a tall, good-looking strip- 
ling stopped in the midst of the town of New York, 
and asked his way to the governor’s house. He at- 
tracted not a little attention, and created as much 
astonishment when he came into the presence of the 
governor. He had been announced as an envoy from 
Quebec. “ Some new insolence of the County Fron- 
tenac ! ” cried old Richard Nicholls, bringing his fist 
down on the table. For a few minutes he talked with 
his chamber-fellow, then, “ Show the gentleman in,” 
he said. 

In the room without, the envoy from Quebec had 
stood flicking the dust from his leggings with a scarf. 

(i) 


2 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


He was not more than eighteen, his face had scarcely 
an inkling of moustache, but he had an easy upright 
carriage, with an air of self-possession, the keenest of 
grey eyes, a strong pair of shoulders, a look of daring 
about his rather large mouth, which lent him a man- 
liness well warranting his present service. He had 
been left alone, and the first thing he had done was to 
turn on his heel and examine the place swiftly. This 
he seemed to do mechanically, not as one forecasting 
danger, not as a spy. In the curve of his lips, in an 
occasional droop of his eyelids, there was a suggestion 
of humour : less often a quality of the young than of 
the old. For even in the late seventeenth century, 
youth took itself seriously at times. 

Presently, as he stood looking at the sunshine 
through the open door, a young girl came into the 
lane of light, waved her hand, with a little laugh, to 
some one in the distance, and stepped inside. At first 
she did not see him. Her glances were still cast back 
the way she had come. The young man could not fol- 
low her glance, nor was he anything curious. Young 
as he was, he could enjoy a fine picture. There was a 
pretty demureness in the girl’s manner, a warm pi- 
quancy in the turn of the neck, and a delicacy in her 


AN ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY. 


3 

gestures, which to him, fresh from hard hours in the 
woods, was part of some delightful Arcadie — though 
Arcadie was more in his veins than of his knowledge. 
For the young seigneur of New France spent far more 
hours with his gun than with his Latin, and knew his 
bush-ranging vassal better than his tutor; and this 
one was too complete a type of his order to reverse 
its record. He did not look to his scanty lace, or 
set himself seemingly ; he did but stop flicking the 
scarf held loose in his fingers, his foot still on the 
bench. A smile played at his lips, and his eyes had a 
gleam of raillery. He heard the girl say in a soft, 
quaint voice, just as she turned towards him, “ Foolish 
boy ! ” By this he knew that the pretty picture had 
for its inspiration one of his own sex. 

She faced him, and gave a little cry of surprise. 
Then their eyes met. Immediately he made the most 
elaborate bow of all his life, and she swept a grace- 
ful courtesy. Her face was slightly flushed that this 
stranger should have seen, but he carried such an 
open, cordial look that she paused, instead of hurry- 
ing into the governor’s room, as she had seemed in- 
clined to do. In the act the string of her hat, slung 
over her arm, came loose, and the hat fell to the floor. 


4 


THE TRAIL OP THE SWORD. 


Instantly he picked it up and returned it. Neither 
had spoken a word. It seemed another act of the 
light pantomime at the door. As if they had both 
thought on the instant how droll it was, they laughed, 
and she said to him naively : “You have come to visit 
the governor ? You are a Frenchman, are you not ? ” 

To this in slow and careful English, “ Yes,” he re- 
plied ; “ I have come from Canada to see his excel- 
lency. Will you speak French ? ” 

“ If you please, no,” she answered, smiling ; “ your 
English is better than my French. But I must go.” 
And she turned towards the door of the governor’s 
room. 

“ Do not go yet,” he said. “ Tell me, are you the 
governor’s daughter ? ” 

She paused, her hand at the door. “ Oh, no,” she 
answered ; then, in a sprightly way — “ are you a gov- 
ernor’s son ? ” 

“ I wish I were,” he said, “ for then there’d be a 
new intendant, and he’d put Nick Perrot in the 
council.” 

“ What is an intendant ? ” she asked, “ and who is 
Nick Perrot ? ” 

“ Bien ! an intendant is a man whom King Louis 


AN ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY. 


5 


appoints to worry the governor and the gentlemen of 
Canada, and to interrupt the trade. Nicolas Perrot 
is a fine fellow and a great coureur de bois , and helps 
to get the governor out of troubles to-day, the in- 
tendant to-morrow. He is a splendid fighter. Perrot 
is my friend.” 

He said this, not with an air of boasting, but with 
a youthful and enthusiastic pride, which was relieved 
by the twinkle in his eyes and his frank manner. 

“Who brought you here?” she asked demurely. 
“ Are they inside with the governor ? ” 

He saw the raillery ; though indeed, it was nat- 
ural to suppose that he had no business with the 
governor, but had merely come with some one. The 
question was not flattering. His hand went up to his 
chin a little awkwardly. She noted how large yet 
how well-shaped it was, or, rather, she remembered 
afterwards. Then it dropped upon the hilt of the 
rapier he wore, and he answered with good self-pos- 
session, though a little hot spot showed on his cheek : 
“The governor must have other guests who are no 
men of mine; for he keeps an envoy from Count 
Frontenac long in his anteroom.” 

The girl became very youthful indeed, and a 


6 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


merry light danced in her eyes and warmed her 
cheek. She came a step nearer. “It is not so? 
You do not come from Count Frontenac — all alone, 
do you ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you after I have told the governor,” he 
answered, pleased and amused. 

“ Oh, I shall hear when the governor hears,” she 
answered, with a soft quaintness, and then vanished 
into the governor’s chamber. She had scarce entered 
when the door opened again, and the servant, a Scots- 
man, came out to say that his excellency would re- 
ceive him. He went briskly forward, hut presently 
paused. A sudden sense of shyness possessed him. 
It was not the first time he had been ushered into 
viceregal presence, but his was an odd position. He 
was in a strange land, charged with an embassy, 
which accident had thrust upon him. Then, too, the 
presence of the girl had withdrawn him for an instant 
from the imminence of his duty. His youth came 
out of him, and in the pause one -could fairly see him 
turn into man. 

He had not the dark complexion of so many of his 
race, but was rather Saxon in face, with rich, curling, 
brown hair. Even in that brave time one might 


AN ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY. 7 

safely have bespoken for him a large career. And 
even while the Scotsman in the doorway eyed him 
with distant deprecation, — as he eyed all Frenchmen, 
good and bad, ugly or handsome, — he put off his hesi- 
tation and entered the governor’s chamber. Colonel 
Nicholls came forward to greet him, and then sud- 
denly stopped, astonished. Then he wheeled upon 
the girl. “ J essica, you madcap ! ” he said in a low 
voice. 

She was leaning against a tall chair, both hands 
grasping the back of it, her chin just level with the 
top. She had told the governor that Count Fronte- 
nac had sent him a lame old man, and that, enemy or 
none, he ought not to be kept waiting, with arm in 
sling and bandaged head. Seated at the table near 
her was a grave member of the governor’s council, 
William Drayton by name. He lifted a reproving 
finger at her now, but with a smile on his kindly 
face, and “ Fie, fie, young lady ! ” he said, in a 
whisper. 

Presently the governor mastered his surprise, and 
seeing that the young man was of birth and quality, 
extended his hand cordially enough, and said, “ I am 

glad to greet you, sir ; ” and motioned him to a seat. 

2 


8 


THE TRAIL OF TnE SWORD. 


“ But, pray, sit down,” he added, “ and let us hear 
the message Count Frontenac has sent. Meanwhile 
we would be favoured with your name and rank.” 

The young man thrust a hand into his doublet 
and drew forth a packet of papers. As he handed it 
over, he said in English, — for till then the governor 
had spoken French, having once served with the 
army of France and lived at the French Court, — 
“Your excellency, my name is Pierre le Moyne of 
Iberville, son of Charles le Moyne, a seigneur of 
Canada, of whom you may have heard.” (The gov- 
ernor nodded.) “ I was not sent by Count Frontenac 
to you. My father was his envoy : to debate with you 
our trade in the far West and our dealings with the 
Iroquois.” 

“ Exactly,” said old William Drayton, tapping the 
table with his forefinger ; “ and a very sound move, 
upon my soul.” 

“Ay, ay,” said the governor, “I know of your 
father well enough. A good fighter and an honest 
gentleman, as they say. But proceed, Monsieur le 
Moyne of Iberville.” 

“ I am called Iberville,” said the young man sim- 
ply. Then, “My father and myself started from 


AN ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY. 


9 


Quebec with good Nick Perrot, the coureur de 
hois ” 

“ I know him too,” the governor interjected — “ a 
scoundrel worth his weight in gold to your Count 
Frontenac.” 

“For whose head Count Frontenac has offered 
gold in his time,” answered Iberville, with a smile. 

“A very pretty wit,” said old William Drayton, 
nodding softly towards the girl, who was casting 
bright, quizzical glances at the youth over the back 
of the chair. 

Iberville went on, “ Six days ago we were set 
upon by a score of your Indians, and might easily 
have left our scalps with them ; but as it chanced, my 
father was wounded, I came off scot-free, and we 
had the joy of ridding your excellency of half a 
dozen rogues.” 

The governor lifted his eyebrows and said noth- 
ing. The face of the girl over against the back of 
the chair had become grave. 

“ It was in question whether Perrot or I should 
bear Count Frontenac’s message. Perrot knew the 
way, I did not. Perrot also knew the Indians.” 

“ But Perrot,” said the governor bluffly, “ would 


10 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


have been the letter-carrier; you are a kind of am- 
bassador. Upon my soul, yes, a sort of ambassador ! ” 
he added, enjoying the idea ; for, look at it how you 
would, Iberville was but a boy. 

“ That was my father’s thought and my own,” 
answered Iberville coolly. “ There was my father to 
care for till his wound was healed and he could travel 
back to Quebec, so we thought it better Perrot should 
stay with him. A Le Moyne was to present himself, 
and a Le Moyne has done so.” 

The governor was impressed more deeply than he 
showed. It was a time of peace, but the young man’s 
journey among Indian braves and English outlaws, to 
whom a French scalp was a thing of price, was hard 
and hazardous. His reply was cordial, then his fin- 
gers came to the seal of the packet; but the girl’s 
hand touched his arm. 

“ I know his name,” she said in the governor’s ear, 
“ but he does not know mine.” 

The governor patted her hand, and then rejoined, 
“ Now, now, I forgot the lady ; but I cannot always 
remember that you are full fifteen years old.” 

Standing up, with all due gravity and courtesy, 
“ Monsieur Iberville,” he said, “ let me present you to 


AN ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY. 


• 11 


Mistress Jessica Leveret, the daughter of my good 
and honoured and absent friend, the Honourable 
Hogarth Leveret.” 

So the governor and his councillor stood shoulder 
to shoulder at one window, debating Count Fronte- 
nac’s message; and shoulder to shoulder at another 
stood Iberville and Jessica Leveret. And what was 
between these at that moment — though none could 
have guessed it — signified as much to the colonies of 
France and England, at strife in the New World, as 
the deliberations of their elders. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE THREAT OF A RENEGADE. 

Iberville was used to the society of women. 
Even as a young lad, his father’s notable place in the 
colony, and the freedom and gaiety of life in Que- 
bec and Montreal, had drawn upon him a notice 
which was as much a promise of the future as an 
accent of the present. And yet, through all of it, he 
was ever better inspired by the grasp of a common 
soldier, who had served with Carigan-Salieres, or by 
the greeting and gossip of such woodsmen as Du 
Lhut, Mantet, La Duran taye, and, most of all, his 
staunch friend Perrot, chief of the coureurs de lois. 
Truth is, in his veins was the strain of war and 
adventure first and before all. Under his tutor, the 
good Pere Dollier de Casson, he had never endured 
his classics, save for the sake of Hector and Achilles 
and their kind ; and his knowledge of English, which 

his father had pressed him to learn, — for he himself 

( 12 ) 


THE THREAT OF A RENEGADE. 13 

had felt the lack of it in dealings with Dutch and 
English traders, — only grew in proportion as he was 
given Shakespeare and Raleigh to explore. 

Soon the girl laughed up at him. “ I have been a 
great traveller,” she said, “ and I have ears. I have 
been as far west as Albany and south to Virginia, 
with my father, who, perhaps you do not know, is in 
England now. And they told me everywhere that 
Frenchmen are bold, dark men, with great black eyes 
and very fine laces and wigs, and a trick of bowing 
and making foolish compliments; and they are not 
to be trusted, and they will not fight except in the 
woods, where there are trees to climb. But I see that 
it is not all true, for you are not dark, your eyes are 
not big or black, your laces are not much to see, you 

do not make compliments ” 

“ I shalhbegin now,” he interrupted. 

“ — you must be trusted a little, or Count Frontenac 
would not send you, and — and — tell me : would you 
fight if you had a chance ? ” 

No one of her sex had ever talked so to Iberville. 
Her demure raillery, her fresh, frank impertinence, 
through which there ran a pretty air of breeding, her 
innocent disregard of formality, all joined to impress, 


14 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


to interest him. He was not so much surprised at 
the elegance and cleverness of her speech, for in Que- 
bec girls of her age were skilled in languages and 
arts, thanks to the great bishop, Laval, and to Marie of 
the Incarnation. In response to her a smile flickered 
upon his lips. He had a quick fierce temper, but it 
had never been severely tried ; and so well used was 
he to looking cheerfully upon things, so keen had 
been his zest in living, that, where himself was con- 
cerned, his vanity was not easily touched. So, look- 
ing with genial dryness, “ You will hardly believe it, 
of course,” he said, “ but wings I have not yet grown, 
and the walking is bad ’twixt here and the Ch&teau 
St. Louis.” 

“ Iroquois traps,” she suggested, with a smile. 

“With a trick or two of English footpads,” was 
his reply. 

Meanwhile his eye had loitered between the two 
men in council at the farther window and the garden, 
into which he and the girl were looking. Presently 
he gave a little start and a low whistle, and his eyelids 
slightly drooped, giving him a handsome sulkiness. 
“Is it so?” he said between his teeth, “ Radisson — 
Radisson, as I live !” 


THE THREAT OF A RENEGADE. 


15 


He had seen a man cross a corner of the yard. 
This man was short, dark-bearded, with black, lanky 
hair, brass earrings, and buckskin leggings, all the 
typical equipment of the French coureur de bois. 
Iberville had only got one glance at his face, but the 
sinister profile could never be forgotten. At once the 
man passed out of view. The girl had not seen him, 
she had been watching her companion. Presently she 
said, her fingers just brushing his sleeve, for he stood 
eyeing the point where the man had disappeared : 
“Wonderful! You look now as if you would fight. 
Oh, fierce, fierce as the governor when he catches a 
French spy.” 

He turned to her and, with a touch of irony, Par - 
don!” he retorted. “Now I shall look as blithe as 
the governor when a traitor deserts to him.” 

Of purpose he spoke loud enough to be heard by 
the governor and his friend. The governor turned 
sharply on him. He had caught the ring in the 
voice, that rash enthusiasm of eager youth, and, tak- 
ing a step towards Iberville, Count Frontenac’s letter 
still poised in his hand, “ Were your words meant for 
my hearing, monsieur?” he said. “ Were you speak- 
ing of me or of your governor ? ” 


1G 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


“ I was thinking of one Radisson, a traitor, and I 
was speaking of yourself, your excellency.” 

The governor had asked his question in French, in 
French the reply was given. Both the girl and Coun- 
cillor Drayton followed with difficulty. Jessica looked 
a message to her comrade in ignorance. The old 
man touched the governor’s arm. “ Let it be in 
English if monsieur is willing. He speaks it 
well.” 

The governor was at work to hide his anger : he 
wished good greeting to Count Frontenac’s envoy, 
and it seemed not fitting to be touched by the charges 
of a boy. “ I must tell you frankly, Monsieur Iber- 
ville,” he said, “ that I do not choose to find a sort of 
challenge in your words ; and I doubt that your 
father, had he been here, would have spoken quite so 
roundly. But I am for peace and happy temper when 
I can. I may not help it if your people, tired of the 
governance of Louis of France, come into the good 
ruling of King Charles. As for this man Radisson : 
what is it you would have ? ” 

Iberville was now well settled back upon his na- 
tive courage. He swallowed the rebuke with grace, 
and replied with frankness, “ Radisson is an outlaw. 


THE THREAT OF A RENEGADE. 17 

Once he attempted Count Frontenac’s life. He sold 
a band of our traders to the Iroquois. He led your 
Hollanders stealthily to cut off the Indians of the 
West, who were coming with their year’s furs to our 
merchants. There is peace between your colony and 
ours — is it fair to harbour such a wretch in your 
court-yard? It was said up in Quebec, your excel- 
lency, that such men have eaten at your table.” 

During this speech the governor seemed choleric, 
but a change passed over him, and he fell to admiring 
the lad’s boldness. “Upon my soul, monsieur,” he 
said, “you are council, judge, and jury all in one; but 
I think I need not weigh the thing with you, for his 
excellency, from whom you come, has set forth this 
same charge,” — he tapped the paper, — “ and we will 
not spoil good fellowship by threshing it now.” He 
laughed a little ironically. “ And I promise you,” he 
added, “ that your Radisson shall neither drink wine 
nor eat bread with you at my table. And now, come, 
lest us talk awhile together; for, lest any accident 
befall the packet you shall bear, I wish you to carry 
in your memory, with great distinctness, the terms of 
my writing to your governor. I would that it were 
not to be written, for I hate the quill, and I’ve seen 


18 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


the time I would rather point my sword red than my 
goose-horn black.” 

By this the shadows were falling. In the west the 
sun was slipping down behind the hills, leaving the 
strong day with a rosy and radiant glamour, that 
faded away in eloquent tones to the grey, tinsel soft- 
ness of the zenith. Out in the yard a sumach bush 
was aflame. Rich tiger-lilies thrust in at the sill, and 
lazy flies and king bees boomed in and out of the 
window. Something out of the sunset, out of the 
glorious freshness and primal majesty of the new 
land, diffused through the room where those four 
people stood, and made them silent. Presently the 
governor drew his chair to the table, and motioned 
Councillor Drayton and Iberville to be seated. 

The girl touched his arm. “ And where am I to 
sit?” she asked demurely. Colonel Nicholls pursed 
his lips and seemed to frown severely on her. “ To 
sit? Why, in your room, mistress. Tut, tut, you are 
too bold. If I did not know your father was coming 
soon to bear you off, new orders should be issued. 
Yes, yes, e’en as I say,” he added, as he saw the 
laughter in her eyes. 

She knew that she could wind the big-mannered 


THE THREAT OF A RENEGADE. 19 

soldier about her finger. She had mastered his house- 
hold, she was the idol of the settlement, her flexible 
intelligence, the flush of the first delicate bounty of 
womanhood had made him her slave. In a matter of 
vexing weight he would not have let her stay, but 
such deliberatings as he would have with Iberville 
could well bear her scrutiny. He reached out to 
pinch her cheek, but she deftly tipped her head and 
caught his outstretched fingers. “ But where am I 
to sit?” she persisted. 

“Anywhere, then, but at the council-table,” was 
his response, as he wagged a finger at her and sat 
down. Going over she perched herself on a high stool 
in the window behind Iberville. He could not see 
her, and, if he thought at all about it, he must have 
supposed that she could not see him. Yet she could ; 
for at the window-frame was a mirror, and it reflected 
his face and the doings at the board. She did not 
listen to the rumble of voices. She fell to studying 
Iberville. Once or twice she laughed softly to herself. 

As she turned to the window a man passed by and 
looked in at her. His look was singular, and she 
started. Something about his face was familiar. She 
found her mind feeling among far memories, for even 


20 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


the past of the young stretches out interminably. 
She shuddered, and a troubled look came into her 
eyes. Yet she could not remember. She leaned 
slightly forward, as if she were peering into that by- 
gone world which, may be, is wider than the future 
for all of us — the past. Her eyes grew deep and 
melancholy. The sunset seemed to brighten around 
her all at once, and enmesh her in a golden web, 
burnishing her hair, and it fell across her brow with 
a peculiar radiance, leaving the temples in shadow, 
softening and yet lighting the carmine of her cheeks 
and lips, giving a feeling of life to her dress, which 
itself was like dusty gold. Her hands were caught 
and clasped at her knees. There was something 
spiritual and exalted in the picture. It had, too, a 
touch of tragedy, for something out of her nebulous 
past had been reflected in faint shadows in her eyes, 
and this again, by strange, delicate processes, was ex- 
pressed in every line of her form, in all the aspect of 
her face. It was as if some knowledge were being 
filtered to her through myriad atmospheres of pre- — 
monition ; as though the gods in pity foreshadowed a 
great trouble, that the first rudeness of misery might 
be spared. 


THE THREAT OF A RENEGADE. 


21 


She did not note that Iberville had risen, and had 
come round the table to look over Councillor Dray- 
ton’s shoulder at a map spread out. After standing a 
moment watching, the councillor’s finger his pilot, he 
started back to his seat. As he did so, he caught 
sight of her, still in that poise of wonderment, and 
sadness. He stopped short, then glanced at Colonel 
Nicholls and the councillor. Both were bent over 
the map, talking in eager tones. He came softly 
round the table, and was about to speak over her 
shoulder, when she drew herself up with a little 
shiver and seemed to come back from afar. Her 
hands went up to her eyes. Then she heard him. 
She turned quickly, with the pageant of her dreams 
still wavering in her face, smiled at him distantly, 
looked towards the window again in a troubled way, 
then stepped softly and swiftly to the door, and 
passed out. Iberville watched the door close and 
turned to the window. Again he saw, and this time 
nearer to the window, Radisson, and with him the 
man who had so suddenly mastered Jessica. 

He turned to Colonel Nicholls. “ Your excellen- 
cy,” he said, “ will you not let me tell Count Fronte- 
nac that you forbid Radisson your purlieus? For, 


22 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


believe me, sir, there is no greater rogue unhanged, as 
you shall find some day to the hurt of your colony, if 
you shelter him.” 

The governor rose and paced the room thought- 
fully. “ He is proclaimed by Frontenac ? ” he asked. 

“A price is on his head. As a Frenchman I 
should shoot him like a wolf where’er I saw him ; and 
so I would now were I not Count Frontenac’s am- 
bassador and in your excellency’s presence.” 

“ You speak manfully, monsieur,” said the gover- 
nor, not ill-pleased ; “ but how might you shoot him 
now? Is he without there?” At this he came to 
where Iberville stood, and looked out. “ Who is the 
fellow with him ? ” he asked. 

“A cut-throat scoundrel, I’ll swear, though his 
face is so smug,” said Iberville. “ What think you, 
sir ? ” turning to the councillor, who was peering be- 
tween their shoulders. 

'“As artless yet as strange a face as I have ever 
seen,” answered the merchant. “ What’s his business 
here, and why comes he with the other rogue ? He 
would speak with your excellency, I doubt not,” he 
added. 

Colonel Nicholls turned to Iberville. “ You shall 


THE THREAT OF A RENEGADE. 


23 


have your way,” he said. “ Yon renegade was useful 
when we did not know what sudden game was play- 
ing from Ch&teau St. Louis ; for, as you can guess, he 
has friends as faithless as himself. But to please your 
governor, I will proclaim him.” 

He took his stick and tapped the floor. Waiting 
a moment, he tapped again. There was no sign. 
He opened the door, but his Scots bodyguard was not 
in sight. “ That’s unusual,” he said. Then, look- 
ing round, “ Where is our other councillor ? Gone ? ” 
he laughed. “ Faith, I did not see her go. And now 
we can swear that where the dear witch is will Morris, 
my Scotsman, be found. Well, well ! They have 
their way with us whether we will or no. But, here, 
I’ll have your Radisson in at once.” 

He was in act to call when Morris entered. With 
a little hasty rebuke he gave his order. “ And look 
you, my good Morris,” he added, “ tell Sherlock and 
Weir to stand ready. I may need the show of fire- 
arms.” 

Turning to Iberville, he said, “I trust you will 
rest with us some days, monsieur. We shall have 
sports and junketings anon. We are not yet so grim 

as our friends in Massachusetts.” 

3 


24 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


“ I think I might venture two days with you, sir, 
if for nothing else, to see Radisson proclaimed. Count 
Frontenac would gladly cut months from his calendar 
to know you ceased to harbour one who can prove no 
friend.” 

The governor smiled. “ You have a rare taste for 
challenge, monsieur. To be frank, I will say your 
gift is more that of the soldier than the envoy. But 
upon my soul, if you will permit me, I think no less 
of you for that.” 

Then the door opened, and Morris brought in 
Radisson. The keen, sinister eyes of the woodsman 
travelled from face to face, and rested savagely on 
Iberville. He scented trouble, and traced it to its 
source. Iberville drew back to the window and, rest- 
ing his arm on the high stool where Jessica had sat, 
waited the event. Presently the governor came over 
to him. 

“You can understand,” he said quietly, “that this 
man has been used by my people, and that things may 
be said which ” 

Iberville waved his hand respectfully. “ I under- 
stand, your excellency,” he said. “I will go.” He 
went to the door. 


THE THREAT OF A RENEGADE. 25 

The woodsman as he passed broke out, “ There is 
the old saying of the woods, ‘ It is mad for the young 
wolf to trail the old bear.’ ” 

“ That is so,” rejoined Iberville, with excellent 
coolness, “ if the wolf holds not the spring of the 
trap.” 

In the outer room were two soldiers and the Scot. 
He nodded, passed into the yard, and there he paced 
up and down. Once he saw Jessica’s face at a win- 
dow, he was astonished to see how changed. It wore 
a grave, an apprehensive look. He fell to wondering, 
but even as he wondered his habit of observation 
made him take in every feature of the governor’s 
house and garden, so that he could have reproduced 
all as it was mirrored in his eye. Presently he found 
himself again associating Radisson’s comrade with the 
vague terror in Jessica’s face. At last he saw the fel- 
low come forth between two soldiers, and the woods- 
man turned his head from side to side, showing his 
teeth like a wild beast at sight of Iberville. His 
black brows twitched over his vicious eyes. “ There 
are many ways to hell, Monsieur Iberville,” he said ; 
“ I will show you one. Some day when you think 
you tread on a wisp of straw, it will be a snake with 


2G THE trail of the sword. 

the deadly tooth. You have made an outlaw — take 
care! When the outlaw tires of the game, he winds 
it up — quick ! And some one pays for the candles 
and the cards.” 

Iberville walked up to him. “ Radisson,” he said 
in voice well controlled, “you have always been an 
outlaw. In our native country you were a traitor ; in 
this, you are the traitor still. I am not sorry for you, 
for you deserve not mercy. Prove me wrong. Go 
back to Quebec ; offer to pay with your neck, 
then ” 

“ I will have my hour,” said the woodsman, and 
started on. 

“ It’s a pity,” said Iberville to himself ; “ as fine a 


woodsman as Perrot too ! ” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE FACE AT THE WIHDOW. 

At the governor’s table that night certain ladies 
and gentlemen assembled to do the envoy honour. 
Came, too, a young gentleman, son of a distinguished 
New Englander, his name George Gering, who was 
now in New York for the first time. The truth is, 
his visit was to Jessica, his old playmate, the mistress 
of his boyhood. Her father was in England, her 
mother had been dead many years, and Colonel 
Nicholls and his sister being kinsfolk, a whole twelve- 
month ago he had left her with them. He had meant 
at first to house her in Boston with his old friend 
Edward Gering, but he loved the Cavalier-like tone of 
Colonel Nicholls’ household better than the less in- 
spiriting air which Madam Puritan Gering suffused 
about her home. Himself in early youth had felt the 
austerity of a Cavalier father turned a Puritan on a 

sudden, and he wished no such experience for his 

( 27 ) 


28 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


daughter. For all her abundancy of life and feeling, 
he knew how plastic and impressionable she was, and 
he dreaded to see that exaltation of her fresh spirit 
touched with gloom. She was his only child, she had 
been little out of his sight, her education had gone on 
under his own care, and in so far as was possible in a 
new land, he had surrounded her with gracious in- 
fluences. He looked forward to any definite separa- 
tion (as marriage) with apprehension. Perhaps one 
of the reasons why he chose Colonel Nicholls’ house 
for her home, was a fear lest George Gering should so 
impress her that she might somehow change ere his 
return. And in those times brides of sixteen were 
common as now they are rare. 

She sat on the governor’s left. All the brightness, 
the soft piquancy, which Iberville knew, had returned ; 
and he wondered, — fortunate to know that wonder so 
young, — at her varying moods. She talked little, and 
most with the governor ; but her presence seemed 
pervasive, the aura in her veins flowed from her eye 
and made an atmosphere that lighted even the 
scarred and rather sulky faces of two officers of His 
Majesty. They had served with Nicholls in Spain, 
but not having eaten King Louis’ bread, eyed all 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 


29 


Frenchmen askance, and were not needlessly courteous 
to Iberville, whose achievments they could scarce ap- 
preciate, having done no Indian fighting. 

Iberville sat at the governor’s end, Gering at the 
other. It was remarkable to Iberville that Gering’s 
eyes were much on Jessica, and in the spirit of rivalry, 
the legitimate growth of race and habit, he began to 
speak to her with the air of easy but deliberate play- 
fulness which marked their first meeting. 

Presently she spoke across the table to him, after 
Colonel Nicholls had pledged him heartily over wine. 
The tone was a half whisper as of awe, in reality a 
pretty mockery. “ Tell me,” she said, “ what is the 
bravest and greatest thing you ever did ? ” 

“Jessica, Jessica ! ” said the governor in reproof. 
An old Dutch burgher laughed into his hand, and 
His Majesty’s officers cocked their ears, for the whis- 
per was more arresting than any loud talk. Iberville 
coloured, but the flush passed quickly and left him 
unembarrassed. He was not hurt, not even piqued, 
for he felt well used to her dainty raillery. But he 
saw that Gering’s eyes were on him, and the lull that 
fell as by a common instinct — for all could not have 
heard the question — gave him a thrill of timidity. 


30 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


But, smiling, he said dryly across the table, his voice 
quiet and clear, “ My bravest and greatest thing was 
to answer an English lady’s wit in English.” 

A murmur of applause ran round, and Jessica 
laughed and clapped her hands. For the first time 
in his life Gering had a pang of jealous and envy. 
Only that afternoon he had spent a happy hour with 
Jessica in the governor’s garden, and he had then 
made an advance upon the simple relations of their 
life in Boston. She had met him without self-con- 
sciousness, persisting in her old ways, and showing 
only when she left him, and then for a breath, that 
she saw his new attitude. Now the eyes of the two 
men met, and Gering’s dark face flushed and his brow 
lowered. Perhaps no one saw but Iberville, but he, 
seeing, felt a sudden desire to play upon the other’s 
weakness. He was too good a sportsman to show 
temper in a game; he had suddenly come to the 
knowledge that love, too, is a game, and needs play- 
ing. By this time the dinner was drawing to its close, 
and now a singular thing happened. As Jessica, with 
demure amusement, listened to the talk that followed 
Iberville’s sally, she chanced to lift her eyes to a win- 
dow. She started, changed colour, and gave a little 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 31 

cry. The governor’s hand covered hers at once as he 
followed her look. It was a summer’s night, and the 
curtained windows were partly open. Iberville noted 
that Jessica’s face wore the self-same shadow as in the 
afternoon when she had seen the stranger with Radis- 
son. 

“ What was it, my dear ? ” said the governor. 

She did not answer, but pressed his hand nerv- 
ously. 

“ A spy, I believe,” said Iberville, in a low voice. 

“ Yes, yes,” said Jessica in a half whisper ; “ a man 
looked in at the window ; a face that I have seen — but 
I can’t remember when.” 

The governor went to the window and drew the 
curtains. There was nothing to see. lie ordered 
Morris, who stood behind his chair, to have the 
ground searched and to bring in any straggler. 
Already both the officers were on their way to the 
door, and at this point it opened and let in a soldier. 
He said that as he and his comrade were returning 
from their duty with Radisson, they saw a man lurk- 
ing in the grounds and seized him. He had made no 
resistance, and was now under guard in the anteroom. 
The governor apologised to his guests, but the dinner 


32 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


could not be ended formally now, so the ladies rose 
and retired. Jessica, making a mighty effort to 
recover herself, succeeded so well that ere she went 
she was able to reproach herself for her alarm; the 
more so because the governor’s sister showed her such 
consideration as would be given a frightened child, — 
and she had begun to feel something more. 

The ladies gone, the governor drew his guests 
about him and ordered in the prisoner. Morris spoke 
up, saying that the man had begged an interview with 
the governor that afternoon, but, being told that his 
excellency was engaged, had said another time would 
do. This man was the prisoner. He came in under 
guard, but he bore himself quietly enough and made a 
low bow to the governor. He was not an ill-favoured 
fellow. His eye was steely cold, but his face was 
hearty and round, and remarkably free from vicious- 
ness. He had a cheerful air and an alert freedom of 
manner, which suggested good fellowship and honest 
enterprise. Where his left hand had been w r as an 
iron hook, but not obtrusively in view, nor did it give 
any marked grimness to his appearance. Indeed, the 
effect was almost comical when he lifted it and 
scratched his head and then rubbed his chin with it ; 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 


33 


it made him look part bumpkin and part sailor. He 
bore the scrutiny of the company very well, and pres- 
ently bowed again to the governor as one who waited 
the expression of that officer’s goodwill and pleasure. 

“ Now, fellow,” said the colonel, “ think yourself 
lucky my soldiers here did not shoot you without 
shrift. You chance upon good-natured times. When 
a spying stranger comes dangling about these win- 
dows, my men are given to adorning the nearest tree 
with him. Out with the truth now. Who and what 
are you, and why are you here ? ” 

The fellow bowed. “ I am the captain of a little 
trading schooner, the Nell Gwynn , which anchors in 
the roadstead till I have laid some private business be- 
fore 3'our excellency and can get on to West Indies.” 

“ Business — private business ! Then what in the 
name of all that’s infernal,” quoth Nicholls, “brought 
your sneaking face to yon window to fright my lady- 
guests?” The memory of Jessica’s alarm came hotly 
to his mind. “ By God,” he said, “ I have a will to 
see you lifted for means to better manners ! ” 

The man stood very quiet, now and again, how- 
ever, raising the hook to stroke his chin. He showed 
no fear, but Iberville, with his habit of observation, 


34 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


caught in his eyes, shining superficially with a sailor’s 
open honesty, a strange, ulterior look. “ My busi- 
ness,” so he answered Nicholls, “ is for your excellen- 
cy’s ears.” He bowed again. 

“ Have done with scraping. Now, I tell you what, 
my gentle spy, if your business hath not concern I’ll 
stretch you by your fingers there to our public gal- 
lows, and my fellows shall fill you with small shot as 
full as a pod of peas.” 

The governor rose and went into another room, 
followed by this strange visitor and the two soldiers. 
There he told the guard to wait at the door, which 
entered into the anteroom. Then he unlocked a 
drawer and took out of it a pair of pistols. These he 
laid on the table (for he knew the times), noting the 
while that the seaman watched him with a pensive, 
deprecating grin. 

“ Well, sir,” he said sharply (for he was something 
nettled), “out with your business and your name in 
preface.” 

“ My name is Edward Bucklaw, and I have come 
to your excellency because I know there is no braver 
and more enterprising gentleman in the world.” He 
paused. 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 


35 


“ So much for preamble ; now for the discourse.” 

“ By your excellency’s leave. I am a poor man. 
I have only my little craft and a handful of seamen 
picked up at odd prices. But there’s gold and silver 
enough I know of, owned by no man, to make cargo 
and ballast for the Nell Gwynn , or another twice her 
size.” 

“ Gold and silver,” said the governor, cocking his 
ear and eyeing his visitor up and down. Colonel 
Nicholls had an acquisitive instinct. He was inter- 
ested. “ Well ! well ! gold and silver,” he continued, 
“to fill the Nell Gwynn and another? And what 
concern is that of mine ? Let your words come plain 
off your tongue, for I have no time for foolery.” 

“ ’Tis no foolery on my tongue, sir, as you may 
please to see.” 

He drew a paper from his pocket and shook it out 
as he came a little nearer, speaking all the while. His 
voice had gone low running to a soft kind of chuckle, 
and his eyes were snapping with fire, which Iberville 
alone had seen was false. “ I have come to make 
your excellency’s fortune, if you will stand by with a 
good, stout ship and a handful of men to see me 
through.” 


36 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


The governor shrugged his shoulders. “ Babble,” 
he said, “ all babble and bubble. But go on.” 

“ Babble, your honour ! Every word of it is worth 
a pint of guineas; and this is the pith of it. Far 
down West Indies way, some twenty-five maybe, or 
thirty years ago, there was a plate ship wrecked upon 
a reef. I got it from a Spaniard, who had been sworn 
upon oath to keep it secret by his priests who knew. 
The priests were killed and after a time the Spaniard 
died also, but not until he had given me the ways 
whereby I should get at what makes a man’s heart 
rap in his weasand.” 

“ Let me see your chart,” said the governor. 

A half-hour later he rose, went to the door, and 
sent a soldier for the two king’s officers. As he did 
so, Bucklaw read the room -doors, windows, fireplaces, 
with a grim, stealthy smile trailing across his face. 
Then suddenly the good creature was his old good 
self again — the comfortable shrewdness, the buo} T ant 
devil-may-care, the hook stroking the chin pensively. 
And the king’s officers came in, and soon all four 
were busy with the map. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE UPLIFTING OF THE SWORDS. 

Iberville and Gering sat on with the tobacco 
and the wine. The older men had joined the ladies, 
the governor having politely asked them to do so 
when they chose. The other occupant of the room 
was Morris, who still stood stolidly behind his mas- 
ter’s chair. 

For a time he heard the talk of the two young 
men as in a kind of dream. Their words were not 
loud, their manner was amicable enough, if the shar- 
ing of a bottle were anything to the point. But they 
were sitting almost the full length of the table from 
him, and to quarrel courteously and with an air hath 
ever been a quality in men of gentle blood. 

If Morris’ eyesight had been better, he would have 
seen that Gering handled his wine nervously, and had 
put down his long Dutch pipe. He would also have 

seen that Iberville was smoking with deliberation, and 

( 37 ) 


38 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


drinking with a kind of mannered coolness. Gering’s 
face was flushed, his fine nostrils were swelling vi- 
ciously, his teeth showed white against his red lips, 
and his eyes glinted. There was a kind of devilry at 
Iberville’s large and sensuous mouth, but his eyes 
were steady and provoking ; and while Gering’s words 
went forth pantingly, Iberville’s were slow and con- 
cise, and chosen with the certainty of a lapidary. 

It is hard to tell which had started the quarrel, 
but an edge was on their talk from the beginning. 
Gering had been moved by a boyish jealousy ; Iber- 
ville, who saw the injustice of his foolish temper, had 
played his new-found enemy with a malicious adroit- 
ness. The aboriginal passions were strong in him. 
He had come of a people which had to do with 
essentials in the matter of emotions. To love, to 
hate, to fight, to explore, to hunt, to be loyal, to 
avenge, to bow to Mother Church, to honour the 
king, to beget children, to taste outlawry under a 
more refined name, and to die without whining : 
that was its range of duty, and a very sufficient range 
it was. 

The talk had been running on Bucklaw. It had 
then shifted to Radisson. Gering had crowded home 


THE UPLIFTING OF THE SWORDS. 


39 


with flagrant emphasis the fact that, while Radisson 
was a traitor and a scoundrel, — which Iberville himself 
had admitted with an ironical frankness, — he was also 
a Frenchman. It was at this point that Iberville re- 
membered, also with something of irony, the words 
that Jessica had used that afternoon when she came 
out of the sunshine into the anteroom of the gov- 
ernor’s chamber. She had waved her hand into the 
distance and had said, “Foolish boy!” He knew 
very well that that part of the game was turned 
against him, but with a kind of cheerful recklessness, 
as was ever his way with odds against him — and he 
guessed that the odds were with Gering in the matter 
of Jessica, — he bent across the table and repeated 
them with an exasperating turn to his imperfect ac- 
cent. “ Foolish boy ! ” he said, and awaited, not for 
long, the event. 

“A fool’s lie!” retorted Gering in a low, angry 
voice, and spilled his wine. 

At that Iberville’s heart thumped in his throat 

with anger, and the roof of his mouth became dry ; 

never in his life had he been called a liar. The first 

time that insult strikes a youth of spirit he goes a 

little mad. But he was very quiet — an ominous sort 
4 


40 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


of quietness, even in a boy. He got to liis feet and 
leaned over the table, speaking in words that dropped 
on the silence like metal: “Monsieur, there is but 
one answer.” 

At this point Morris, roused from his elaborate 
musings, caught, not very clearly, at the meaning of 
it all. But he had not time to see more, for just then 
he was called by the governor, and passed into the 
room where Mammon, for the moment, perched like 
a leering, little dwarf upon the shoulders of adven- 
turous gentlemen grown avaricious on a sudden. 

“Monsieur, there is but one way. Well?” re- 
peated Iberville. 

“ I am ready,” replied Gering, also getting to his 
feet. 

The Frenchman was at once alive to certain diffi- 
culties. He knew that an envoy should not fight, 
and that he could ask no one to stand his second; 
also that it would not be possible to arrange a formal 
duel between opposites so young as Gering and him- 
self. He sketched this briefly, and the Bostonian 
nodded moody assent. 

“ Come, then,” said Iberville, “ let us find a place. 
My sword is at my hand. Yours? ” 


THE UPLIFTING OF THE SWORDS. 41 

“ Mine is not far off,” answered Gering sullenly. 

Iberville forbore to point a moral, but walked to 
the mantle, above which hung two swords of finest 
steel, with richly-chased handles. He had noted 
them as soon as he had entered the room. “ By the 
governor’s leave,” he said, and took them down. 
u Since we are to ruffle him, let him furnish the spurs 
— eh? Shall we use these, and so be even as to 
weapons ? But see,” he added, with a burst of frank- 
ness, “ I am in a — a trouble.” It was not easy on the 
instant to find the English word. He explained the 
duties of his mission. It was singular to ask his 
enemy that he should see his papers handed to Count 
Frontenac if he were killed, but it was characteristic 
of him. 

“ I will see the papers delivered,” said Gering, 
with equal frankness. 

“ That is, if by some miraculous chance I should 
be killed,” added Iberville. “ But I have other ends 
in view.” 

“ I have only one end in view,” retorted Gering. 
“ But wait,” he said, as they neared the door leading 
into the main hall ; “ we may be seen. There is an- 
other way into the grounds through a little hall 


42 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


here.” He turned and opened a door almost as small 
as a panel. “ I was shown this secret door the other 
day, and since ours is a secret mission let us use it.” 

“ Very well. But a minute more,” said Iberville. 
He went and unhooked a fine brass lantern, of old 
Dutch workmanship, swung from the ceiling by a 
chain. “We shall need a light,” he remarked. 

They passed into the musty little hallway, and 
Gering with some difficulty drew back the bolts. 
The door creaked open and they stepped out into 
the garden, Iberville leading the way. He had not 
conned his surroundings that afternoon for nothing, 
and when they had reached a quiet place among some 
firs he hung the lantern to the branch of a tree, 
opening the little ornamental door so that the light 
streamed out. There was not much of it, but it 
would serve, and without a word, like two old war- 
riors, they took off their coats. 

Meanwhile Morris had returned to the dining- 
room to find Jessica standing agaze there. She had 
just come in ; for, chancing to be in her bed-chamber, 
which was just over the secret hallway, she had heard 
Gering shoot the bolts. Now, the chamber was in a 
corner, so that the window faced another way, but the 


THE UPLIFTING OF THE SWORDS. 43 

incident seemed strange to her, and she stood for a 
moment listening. Then hearing the door shut, she 
ran down the stairs, knocked at the dining-room door 
and, getting no answer, entered, meeting Morris as he 
came from the governor’s room. 

“ Morris, Morris,” she said, “ where are they all ? ” 
“ The governor is in his room, mistress. ’ 

“ Who are with him ? ” 

He told her. 

“ Where are the others ? ” she urged. “ Mr. Ger- 
ing and Monsieur Iberville — where are they ? ” 

The man’s eyes had flashed to the place where the 
swords were used to hang. “ Lord God ! ” he said 
under his breath. 

Her eyes had followed his. She ran forward to 
the wall and threw up her hands against it. “ 0 
Morris,” she said distractedly, “ they have taken the 
swords ! ” Then she went past him, swiftly through 
the panel and the outer door. She glanced around 
quickly, running, as she did so, with a kind of blind 
instinct towards the clump of firs. Presently she saw 
a little stream of light in the trees. Always a crea- 
ture of abundant energy and sprightliness, she swept 
through the night, from the comedy behind to the 


44 


THE TRAIL OF TIIE SWORD. 


tragedy in front ; the gray starlight falling about her 
white dress and making her hair seem like a cloud 
behind her as she ran. Suddenly she came in on the 
two sworders with a scared, transfigured face. 

Iberville had his man at an advantage, and was • 
making the most of it when she came in at an angle 
behind the other, and the sight of her stayed his arm. 

It was but for a breath, hut it served. Gering had 
not seen, and his sword ran up Iberville’s arm, mak- 
ing a little trench in the flesh. 

She ran in on them from the gloom, saying in a 
deep, aching voice, “ Stop, stop ! Oh, what mad- 
ness ! ” 

The points dropped and they stepped back. She 
stood between them, looking from one to the other. 
At that moment Morris burst in also. “ In God’s 
name,” he said, “ is this your honouring of the king’s 
governor? Ye that have eat and drunk at his table 
the nicht ! Have ye nae sense o’ your manhood, 
young gentlemen, that for a mad gossip over the wine 
ye wend into the dark to cut each other’s throats ? 
Think — think shame, baith o’ ye, being as ye are of 
them that should know better.” 

Gering moodily put on his coat and held his 


THE UPLIFTING OF THE SWOHDS. 45 

peace. Iberville tossed his sword aside, and presently 
wrung the blood from his white sleeve. The girl saw 
him, and knew that he was wounded. She snatched 
a scarf from her waist and ran towards him. “ You 
are wounded ! ” she said. “ Oh, take this.” 

“ I am so much sorry, indeed,” he answered coolly, 
winding the scarf about his arm. “ Mistress Leveret 
came too soon.” 

His face wore a peculiar smile, but his eyes burned 
with anger ; his voice was not excited. Immediately, 
however, as he looked at Jessica, his mood seemed to 
change. 

“ Morris,” he said, “ I am sorry. Mademoiselle,” 
he added, “pardon! I regret whatever gives you 
pain.” 

Gering came near to her, and Iberville could see 
that a flush stole over J essica’s face as he took her 
hand and said, “ I am sorry — that you should have 
known.” 

“ Good ! ” said Iberville, under his breath. “ Good ! 
he is worth fighting again.” 

A moment afterwards Morris explained to them 
that if the matter could be hushed he would not im- 
part it to the governor — at least, not until Iberville 


46 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


had gone. Then they all started back towards the 
house. It did not seem incongruous to Iberville and 
Gering to walk side by side; theirs was a superior 
kind of hate. They paused outside the door, on 
Morris’s hint, that he might see if the coast was 
clear, and returh the swords to their place on the 
wall. 

J essica turned in the doorway. “ I shall never 
forgive you,” she said, and was swallowed by the 
darkness. 

“ Which does she mean ? ” asked Iberville, with a 
touch of irony. The other was silent. 

In a moment Morris came back to tell them that 
they might come, for the dining-room was empty still. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE FRUITS OF THE LAW. 

Bucklaw having convinced the governor and his 
friends that down West Indies way there was treasure 
for the finding, was told that he might come again 
next morning. He asked if it might not be late 
afternoon instead, because he had cargo from the 
Indies for sale, and in the morning certain merchants 
were to visit his vessel. Truth to tell he was playing 
a deep game. He wanted to learn the governor’s 
plans for the next afternoon and evening, and thought 
to do so by proposing this same change. He did not 
reckon foolishly. The governor gave him to under- 
stand that there would be feasting next day: first, 
because it was the birthday of the Duke of York; 
secondly, because it was the anniversary of the cap- 
ture from the Dutch ; and, last of all, because there 
were Indian chiefs to come from Albany to see New 

York and himself for the first time. The official 
( 47 ) 


48 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


celebration would begin in the afternoon and last 
till sundown, so that all the governor’s time must be 
fully occupied. But Bucklaw said, with great can- 
dour, that unfortunately he had to sail for Boston 
within thirty-six hours, to keep engagements with 
divers assignees for whom he had special cargo. If 
his excellency, he said, would come out to his ship 
the next evening when the shows were done, he would 
be proud to have him see his racketing little craft ; 
and it could then be judged if, with furbishing and 
armaments, she could by any means be used for the 
expedition. Nicholls consented, and asked the king’s 
officers if they w T ould accompany him. This they 
were exceedingly glad to do : so that the honest ship- 
man’s good nature and politeness were vastly in- 
creased, and he waved his hook in so funny and so 
boyish a way it set them all a-laughing. 

So it was arranged forthwith that he should be at 
a quiet point on the shore at a certain hour to row 
the governor and his friends to the Nell Gwynn. 
And, this done, he was bade to go to the dining-room 
and refresh himself. 

He obeyed with cheerfulness and was taken in 
charge by Morris, who, having passed on Iberville and 


THE FRUITS OF THE LAW. 


49 


Gering to the drawing-room, was once more at his 
post taciturn as ever. The governor and his friends 
had gone straight to the drawing-room, so that Mor- 
ris and he were alone. Wine was set before the sailor 
and he took off a glass with gusto, his eye cocked 
humorously towards his host. “No worse fate for a 
sinner,” quoth he ; “ none better for a saint.” 

Morris’ temper was not amiable. He did not like 
the rascal. “ Ay,” said he, “ but many’s the sinner 
has wished yon wish, and footed it from the stocks to 
the gallows.” 

- Bucklaw laughed up at him. It was not a pretty 
laugh, and his eyes were insolent and hard. But that 
changed almost on the instant. “ A good thrust, 
mighty Scot,” he said. “Now what say you to a 
pasty, or a strip of beef cut where the juice runs, and 
maybe the half of a broiled fowl?” 

Morris, imperturbably deliberate, left the room to 
seek the kitchen. Bucklaw got instantly to his feet. 
His eye took in every window and door, and ran along 
the ceiling and the wall. There was a sudden click 
in the wall before him. It was the door leading to 
the unused hallway, which had not been properly 
closed and had sprung open. He caught up a candle, 


50 THE trail of the sword. 

ran over, entered the hallway, and gave a grunt of 
satisfaction. He hastily and softly drew the bolts of 
the outer door, so that any one might come in from 
the garden, then stepped back into the dining-room 
and closed the panel tight behind him, remarking 
with delight that it had no spring-lock, and could be 
opened from the hallway. He came back quickly to 
the table, put down the candle, took his seat, stroked 
his chin with his hook, and chuckled. When Morris 
came back, he was holding his wine with one hand 
while he hummed a snatch of song and drummed 
lightly on the table with the hook. Immediately 
after came a servant with a tray, and the Scotsman 
was soon astonished, not only at the bucksomeness of 
his appetite, but at the deftness with which he carved 
and handled things with what he called his “tiger.” 
And so he went on talking and eating, and he sat so 
long that Jessica, as she passed into the corridor and 
up the stairs, wearied by the day, heard his voice 
uplifted in song. It so worked upon her that she 
put her hands to her ears, hurried to her room, and 
threw herself upon the bed in a distress she could set 
down to no real cause. 

Before the governor and his guests parted for the 


THE FRUITS OF THE LAW. 


51 


night, Iberville, as he made his adieus to Gering, said 
in a low voice, “ The same place and time to-morrow 
night, and on the same conditions?” 

“ I shall be happy,” said Gering, and they bowed 
with great formality. 

The governor had chanced to hear a word or two 
and, thinking it was some game of which they spoke, 
said, “ Piquet or a game of wits, gentlemen ? ” 

“ Neither, your excellency,” quoth Gering, “ a 
game called fox and goose.” 

“ Good,” said Iberville, under his breath ; “ my 
Puritan is waking.” 

The governor was in ripe humour. “ But it is a 
game of wits, then, after all. Upon my soul, you two 
should fence like a pair of veterans.” 

“ Only for a pass or two,” said Iberville dryly. 
“ We cannot keep it up.” 

All this while a boat was rowing swiftly from the 
shore of the island towards a craft carrying Nell 
Gwynn beneath the curious, antique figure-head. 
There were two men in her, and they were talking 
gloatingly and low. 

“ See, bully, how I have the whole thing in my 
hands. Ha! Received by the governor and his 


52 THE trail op the sword. 

friends ! They are all mad for the doubloons, which 
are not for them, my Radisson, but for you and me, 
and for a greater than Colonel Richard Nicholls. 
Ho, ho ! I know him — the man who shall lead the 
hunt and find the gold — the only man in all that 
cursed Boston whose heart I would not eat raw, so 
help me Judas! And his name — no. That is to 
come. I will make him great.” 

Again he chuckled. “ Over in Londoq they shall 
take him to their bosoms. Over in London his 
blessed majesty shall dub him knight — treasure- trove 
is a fine reason for the touch of a royal sword — and 
the king shall say: ‘ Rise, Sir William.’ No, it is not 
time for the name ; but it is not Richard Nicholls, it 
is not Hogarth Leveret.” He laughed like a boy. 
“ I have you, Hogarth Leveret, in my hand, and by 
God I will squeeze you until there is a drop of heart’s 
blood at every pore of your skin ! ” 

Now and again Radisson looked sideways at him, a 
sardonic smile at his lip. At last, “ Bien ,” he said, “ you 
are merry ! So, I shall be merry too, for I have scores 
to wipe away, and they shall be wiped clean — clean.” 

“ You are with me, then,” the pirate asked ; “ even 
as to the girl ? ” 


THE FRUITS OF THE LAW. 53 

“ Even as to the girl,” was the reply, with a brutal 
oath. 

“ That is good, that is good. Blood of my soul, I 
have waited twelve years — twelve years.” 

“ You have not told me,” rejoined the French- 
man ; “ speak now.” 

“ There is not much to tell, but we are to be part- 
ners once and for all. See, my beauty. He was a 
kite-livered captain. There was gold on board. We 
mutinied and put him and four others (their livers 
were like his own) in a boat with provisions plenty. 
Then we sailed for Boston. We never thought the 
crew of skulkers would reach land, but by God they 
drifted in again the very hour we found port. We 
were taken and condemned. First, I was put into 
the stocks, hands and feet, till I was fit for the 
pillory ; from the pillory to the wooden horse.” Here 
he laughed, and the laugh was soft and womanlike. 
“ Then the whipping-post, when I was made pulp 
from my neck to my loins. After that I was to hang. 
I was the only one they cooked so ; the rest were to 
hang raw. I did not hang ; I broke prison and ran. 
For years I was a slave among the Spaniards. Years 
more — in all, twelve — and then I came back with the 


54 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


little chart for one thing, this to do for another. 
Who was it gave me that rogues’ march from the 
stocks to the gallows’ foot ? It was Hogarth Leveret, 
who deals out law in Massachusetts in the king’s 
name, by the grace of God. It was my whim to cap- 
ture him and take him on a journey — such a journey 
as he would go but once. Blood of my soul, the dear 
lad was gone. But there was his child. See this ; 
when I stood in the pillory a maid one day brought 
the child to the foot of the platform, lifted it up in 
her arms and said, ‘ Your father put that villain 
there.’ That woman was sister to one of the dogs 
we’d set adrift. The child stared at me hard, and I 
looked at her, though my eyes were a little the worse 
for wear, so that she cried out in great fright — the 
sweet innocent! and then the wench took her away. 
When she saw my face to-night — to-day — it sent her 
wild, but she did not remember.” He rubbed his 
chin in ecstasy and drummed his knee. “ Ha ! I can- 
not have the father — so I’ll have the goodly child, 
and great will be the ransom. Great will be the ran- 
som, my Frenchman!” And once more he tapped 
Radisson with the “ tiger.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE KIDNAPPING. 

The rejoicing had reached its apogee, and was on 
the wane. The Puritan had stretched his austereness 
to the point of levity; the Dutchman had comfort- 
ably sweated his obedience and content ; the Cavalier 
had paced it with a pretty air of patronage and an 
eye for matron and maid ; the Indian, come from his 
far hunting grounds, bivouacked in the governor’s 
presence as the pipe of peace went round. 

About twilight the governor and his party had 
gone home. Deep in ceremonial as he had been, his 
mind had run upon Bucklaw and the Spaniard’s 
country. So, when the dusk was growing into night, 
the hour came for his visit to the Nell Gwynn. With 
his two soldier friends and Councillor Drayton, he 
started by a roundabout for the point where he 
looked to find Bucklaw. Bucklaw was not there: 

he had other fish to fry, and the ship’s lights 

5 ( 55 ) 


56 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


were gone. She had changed her anchorage since 
afternoon. 

“ It’s a bold scheme,” Bucklaw was saying to his 
fellow-ruffian in the governor’s garden, “ and it may 
fail, yet ’twill go hard, but we’ll save our skins. No 
pluck, no pence. Once again, here’s the trick of it. 
I’ll go in by the side-door I unlocked last night, hide 
in the hallway, then enter the house quietly or boldly, 
as the case maybe. Plan one: a message from his 
excellency to Miss Leveret, that he wishes her to join 
him on the Nell Gwynn. Once outside it’s all right. 
She cannot escape us. We have our cloaks and we 
have the Spanish drug. Plan two : make her ours 
in the house. Out by this hall-door — through the 
grounds — to the beach — the boat in waiting — and so, 
up anchor and away ! Both risky, as you see, but the 
bolder the game the sweeter the spoil! You’re sure 
her chamber is above that hallway, and there’s a stair- 
case to it from the main-hall ? ” 

“ I am very well sure. I know the house upstairs 
and down.” 

Bucklaw looked to his arms. He was about start- 
ing on his quest when they heard footsteps, and two 
figures appeared. It was Iberville and Gering. They 


THE KIDNAPPING. 57 

paused a moment not far from where the rogues were 
hid. 

“ I think you will agree,” said Iberville, “ that we 
must fight.” 

“ I have no other mind.” 

“ You will also be glad if we are not corne upon as 
last night ; though, confess, the lady gave you a lease 
of life?” 

“ If she comes to-night, I hope it will be when I 
have done with you,” answered Gering. 

Iberville laughed a little, and the laugh had fire 
in it — hatred, and the joy of battle. “ Shall it be 
here or yonder in the pines, where we were iu train 
last night?” 

“Yonder.” 

“ So.” Then Iberville hummed ironically a song — 

“ Oh, bury me where I have fought and fallen, 

Your scarf across my shoulder, lady mine ! ” 

They passed on. “ The game is in our hands,’ 
said Bucklaw. “ I understand this thing. That’s a 
pair of gallant young sprigs, but the choice is your 
Frenchman, Radisson.” 

“ I’ll pink his breast-bone full of holes if the other 
doesn’t — curse him ! ” 


58 


THE TRAIL OP THE SWORD. 


A sweet laugh trickled from Bucklaw’s lips like 
oik “ That’s neither here nor there. I’d like to 
have him down Acapulco way, dear lad. . . . And 
now, here’s my plan all changed. Ha ! I’ll have my 
young lady out to stop the duel, and, God’s love, she’ll 
come alone. Once here she’s ours, and they may cut 
each other’s throats as they will, sweetheart ! ” 

He crossed the yard, tried the door — unlocked, as 
he had left it — pushed it open, and went in, groping 
his way to the door of the dining-room. He listened. 
There was no sound. Then he heard someone go in. 
He listened again. Whoever it was had sat down. Very 
carefully he felt for the spring and opened the door. 

Jessica was seated at the table with paper and an 
ink-horn before her. She was writing. She stopped 
— the pen was bad. She got up and went away to her 
room. Instantly Bucklaw laid his plan. He entered 
as she disappeared, went to the table and looked at 
the paper on which she had been writing. It bore but 
the words, “ Dear Friend.” He caught up the quill 
and wrote hurriedly beneath them, this — 

If you'd see two gentlemen fighting, go now where 
you stopped them last night . The wrong one may he 
hilled unless .” 


THE KIDNAPPING. 


59 


With a quick flash of malice he signed, in half a 
dozen lightning-like strokes, with a sketch of his 
hook. Then he turned, hurried into the little hall, 
and so outside, and posted himself beside a lilac bush, 
drawing down a bunch of the flowers to drink in their 
perfume. Jessica, returning, went straight to the 
table. Before she sat down she looked up to the 
mantle, but the swords were there. She sighed, and 
a tear glistened on her eyelashes. She brushed it 
away with her dainty finger-tips and, as she sat down, 
saw the paper. She turned pale, caught it up, read it 
with a little cry, and let it drop with a shudder of fear 
and dismay. She looked round the room. Every- 
thing was as she had left it. She was dazed. She 
stared at the paper again, then ran and opened the 
door through which Bucklaw had passed. She found 
the outer door ajar. With a soft, gasping moan sho 
passed into the garden, went swiftly by the lilac bush 
and on towards the trees. Bucklaw let her do so ; it 
was his design that she should be some way from the 
house. But, hidden by the bushes, he was running 
almost parallel with her. On the other side of her 
was Kadisson, also running. She presently heard him 
and swerved, poor child, into the gin of the fowler ! 


60 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


But as the cloak was thrown over her head she gave 
a cry. 

The firs, where Iberville and Gering had just 
plucked out their swords, were not far, and both men 
heard. Gering, who best knew the voice, said hur- 
riedly, “ It is Jessica ! ” 

Without a word Iberville leaped to the open, and 
came into it ahead of Gering. They saw the kidnap- 
pers and ran. Iberville was the first to find what 
Bucklaw was carrying. “ Mother of God ! ” he cried, 
“ they’re taking her off ! ” 

“ Help ! help ! ” cried Gering, and they pushed 
on. The two ruffians were running hard, but it 
had been an unequal race at the best, and Jessi- 
ca lay unconscious in Bucklaw’s arms, a dead 
weight. Presently they plunged into the bushes and 
disappeared. Iberville and Gering passed through 
the bushes also, but could neither see nor hear the 
quarry. Gering was wild with excitement and lost 
his presence of mind. Meanwhile Iberville went 
beating for a clue. He guessed that he was dealing 
with good woodsmen, and that the kidnappers knew 
some secret way out of the garden. It was so. The 
Dutch governor had begun to build an old-fashioned 


THE KIDNAPPING. 


61 


wall with a narrow gateway, so fitted as to seein part 
of it. Through this the two had vanished. 

Iberville was almost in despair. “ Go back,” he 
suddenly said to Gering, “and rouse the house and 
the town. I will get on the trail again if I can.” 
c Gering started away. In this strange excitement 
their own foolish quarrel was forgotten, and the 
stranger took on himself to command; he was, at 
least, not inexperienced in adventure and the wiles of 
desperate men. All at once he came upon the wall. 
He ran along it, and presently his fingers felt the 
passage. ’An instant and he was outside and making 
for the shore, in the sure knowledge that the ruffians 
would take to the water. He thought of Bucklaw 
and by some impossible instinct divined the presence 
of his hand. Suddenly he saw something flash on 
the ground. He stooped and picked it up. It was a 
shoe with a silver buckle. He thrilled to the finger- 
tips as he thrust it in his bosom and pushed on. lie 
was on the trail now. In a few moments he came to 
the waterside. He looked to where he had seen the 
Nell Gwynn in the morning, and there was never a 
light in view. Then a twig snapped and Bucklaw, 
the girl in his arms, came bundling out of the trees 


G2 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


upon the bank. He had sent Radisson on ahead to 
warn his boat’s crew. 

He saw Iberville as soon as Iberville saw him. He 
knew that the town would be roused, and the gov- 
ernor by this time on fire for revenge. But there was 
nothing for it but fight. He did not fear the result. 
Time w^as life to him, and he swung the girl half 
behind him with his hook-hand as Iberville came on, 
and, whipping out his hanger, caught the French- 
man’s thrust. Instantly he saw that his opposite was 
a swordsman, so he let the girl slip to the ground, and 
suddenly closing with Iberville, lunged desperately 
and expertly at him, straight for a mortal part. But 
the Frenchman was too agile and adroit for him : he 
took the thrust in the flesh of his ribs and riposted 
like lightning. The pirate staggered back, but pulled 
himself together instantly, lunged, and took his man 
in the flesh of his upper sword arm. Iberville was 
bleeding from the wound in his side and slightly stiff 
from the slash of the night before, but every fibre of 
his hurt body was on the defensive. Bucklaw knew 
it, and seemed to debate if the game were worth the 
candle. The town was afoot, and he had earned a 
halter for his pains. He was by no means certain 


THE KIDNAPPING. 


63 


that he could kill this champion and carry off the 
girl. Moreover, he did not want Iberville’s life, for 
such devils have their likes and dislikes, and he had 
fancied the chivalrous youngster from the first. But 
he doubted only for an instant. What was such a 
lad’s life compared with his revenge? It was mad- 
ness, as he knew, for a shot would guide the pursuit : 
none the less did he draw a pistol from his belt and 
fire. The bullet grazed the lad’s temple, carrying 
away a bit of his hair. Iberville staggered forward, 
so weak was he from loss of blood, and, with a deep 
instinct of protection and preservation, fell at Jessica’s 
feet. There was a sound of footsteps and crackling 
of brush. Bucklaw stooped to pick up his prey, but a 
man burst on him from the trees. He saw that the 
game was up and he half raised his knife, but that 
was only the mad rage of the instant. His revenge 
did not comprise so unheard-of a crime. He thought 
he had killed Iberville : that was enough. He sprang 
away towards the spot where his comrades awaited 
him. Escape was his sole ambition now. The new- 
comer ran forward, and saw the boy and girl lying as 
they were dead. A swift glance at Iberville, and he 
slung his musket shoulderwards and fired at the 


64 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


retreating figure. It was a chance shot, for the light 
was bad and Bucklaw was already indistinct. 

Now the man dropped on his knee and felt Iber- 
ville’s heart. “Alive!” he said. “Alive, thank the 
mother of God ! Mon brave! It is ever the same — • 
the great father, the great son ! ” 

As he withdrew his hand it brushed against the 
slipper. He took it out, glanced at it, and turned to 
the cloaked figure. He undid the cloak and saw Jes- 
sica’s pale face. He shook his head. “Always the 
same,” he said, “ always the same : for a king, for a 
friend, for a woman ! That is the Le Moyne.” 

But he was busy as he spoke. With the native 
chivalry of the woodsman, he cared first for the girl. 
Between her lips he thrust his drinking-horn and 
held her head against his shoulder. 

“ My little ma’m’selle ! ma’m’selle ! ” he said. 
“Wake up. It is nothing — you are safe. Ah, the 
sweet lady ! Come, let me see the colour of your eyes. 
Wake up — it is nothing.” 

Presently the girl did open her eyes. He put the 
drinking-horn again to her lips. She shuddered and 
took a sip, and then, invigorated, suddenly drew away 
from him. “There, there,” he said; “ it is all right. 


THE KIDNAPPING. 


65 


Now for my poor Iberville.” He took Iberville’s head 
to his knee and thrust the drinking-horn between his 
teeth, as he had done with Jessica, calling him in 
much the same fashion. Iberville came to with a 
start. For a moment he stared blindly at his rescuer, 
then a glad intelligence flashed into his eyes. 

“ Perrot ! dear Nick Perrot ! ” he cried. “ Oh, 
good — good,” he added softly. Then with sudden 
anxiety — “ Where is she ? Where is she ? ” 

“ I am safe, monsieur,” said Jessica gently; “ but. 
you — you are wounded.” She came over and dropped 
on her knees beside him. 

“ A little,” he said ; “ only a little. You cared for 
her first ? ” he asked of Perrot. 

Perrot chuckled. “ These Le Moynes ! ” he said 
under his breath. Then aloud, “ The lady first, mon- 
sieur.” 

“ So,” answered Iberville. “ And Bucklaw, the 
devil, Bucklaw?” 

“ If you mean the rogue who gave you these,” said 
Perrot, touching the wounds, which he had already 
begun to bind, “ I think he got away — the light was 
bad.” 

Jessica would have torn her frock for a bandage, 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


but Perrot said in his broken English, “ No, pardon. 
Not so. The cloak la -has will do.” 

She ran and brought it to him. As she did so 
Perrot glanced down at her feet, and then, with a 
touch of humour, said, “ Pardon j but you have lost 
your slipper, ma’m’selle ? ” 

He foresaw the little comedy, which he could en- 
joy even in such painful circumstances. 

“ It must have dropped off,” said Jessica, blush- 
ing. “ But it does not matter.” 

Iberville blushed too, but a smile also flitted across 
his lips. “ If you will but put your hand into my 
waistcoat here,” he said to her, “you will find it.” 
Timidly she did as she was bid, drew forth the slip- 
per, and put it on. 

“ You see,” said Iberville, still faint from loss of 
blood, “ a Frenchman can fight and hunt too — hunt 
the slipper.” 

Suddenly a look of pain crossed her face. 

“Mr. Gering, you — you did not kill him?” she 
asked. 

“ Oh, no, mademoiselle,” said Iberville ; “ you 
stopped the game again.” 

Presently he told her what had happened, and 


THE KIDNAPPING. 07 

how Gering was rousing the town. Then he insisted 
upon getting on his feet, that they might make their 
way to the governor’s house. Staunchly he struggled 
on, his weight upon Perrot, till presently he leaned a 
hand also on Jessica’s shoulder — she had insisted. 
On the way Perrot told how it was he chanced to be 
there. A band of coureurs de hois , bound for Que- 
bec, had come upon old Le Moyne and himself in 
the woods. Le Moyne had gone on with these men, 
while Perrot pushed on to New York, arriving at the 
very moment of the kidnapping. He heard the cry 
and made towards it. He had met Gering, and the 
rest they knew. 

Certain things did not happen. The governor of 
New York did not at once engage in an expedition 
to the Spaniard’s country. A brave pursuit was 
made, but Bucklaw went uncaptured. Iberville and 
Gering did not make a third attempt to fight ; Per- 
rot prevented that. Iberville left, however, with a 
knowledge of three things : that he was the first 
Frenchman from Quebec who had been, or was likely 
to be, popular in New York; that Jessica Leveret 
had shown a tender gratitude towards him — naive, 
candid — which set him dreaming gaily of the future ; 


6S 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


that Gering and he, in spite of outward courtesy, were 
still enemies ; for Gering could not forget that, in the 
rescue of Jessica, Iberville had done the work while 
he merely played the crier, 

“ We shall meet again, monsieur,” said Iberville at 
last ; “ at least, I hope so.” 

“ I shall be glad,” answered Gering mechanically. 

“ But ’tis like I shall come to you before you come 
to me,” added Iberville, with meaning. Jessica Lev- 
eret was standing not far away, and Gering did not 
instantly reply. In the pause, Iberville said, “ Au 
revoir ! A la bonne heure /” and walked away. 
Presently he turned with a little, ironical laugh and 
waved his hand at Gering; and laugh and gesture 
rankled in Gering for many a day. 


Qrj]0cl) tlje Sccottb. 

CHAPTER VII. 

FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 

Montreal and Quebec, dear to the fortunes of 
such men as Iberville, were as cheerful in the still 
iron winter as any city under any more cordial sky 
then or now : men loved, hated, made and broke 
bargains, lied to women, kept a foolish honour 
with each other, and did deeds of valour for a song 
as ever they did from the beginning of the world. 
Through the stern soul of Nature ran the tempera- 
ment of men who had hearts of summer ; and if on a 
certain notable day in Iberville’s life, one could have 
looked through the window of a low stone house in 
Notre Dame Street, Montreal, one could have seen a 
priest joyously playing a violin ; though even in 

Europe, Maggini and Stradivarius were but little 

( 69 ) 


70 THE trail of the sword. 

known, and the instrument itself was often called an 
invention of the devil. 

The room was not ornamented, save by a crucifix, 
a pleasant pencil-drawing of Bishop Laval, a gun, a 
pair of snow-shoes, a sword, and a little shrine in one 
corner, wherein were relics of a saint. Of necessaries 
even there were few. They were unremarkable, save 
in the case of two tall silver candlesticks, which, with 
their candles at an angle from the musician, gave his 
face strange lights and shadows. 

The priest was powerfully made ; so powerful in- 
deed, so tall was he, that wdien, in one of the changes 
of the music, a kind of exaltation filled him, and he 
came to his feet, his head almost touched the ceiling. 
His shoulders were broad and strong, and though his 
limbs were hid by his cassock, his arms showed almost 
huge and the violin lay tucked under his chin like a 
mere toy. In the eye was a penetrating but abstracted 
look, and the countenance had the gravity of a priest 
lighted by a cheerful soul within. It had been said 
of Dollier de Casson that once, attacked by two rene- 
gade Frenchman, he had broken the leg of one and 
the back of the other, and had then picked them up 
and carried them for miles to shelter and nursing. 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 71 

And it was also declared by the romantic that the 
man with the broken back recovered, while he with 
the shattered leg, recovering also, found that his 
foot, pointing backward, “ made a fool of his nose.” 

The Abbe de Casson’s life had one affection, which 
had taken the place of others, now almost lost in the 
distance of youth, absence, and indifference. For 
France lay far from Montreal, and the priest-musician 
was infinitely farther off : the miles which the Church 
measures between the priest and his lay boyhood are 
not easily reckoned. But such as Dollier de Casson 
must have a field for affection to enrich. You cannot 
drive the sap of the tree in upon itself. It must come 
out or the tree must die — burst with the very misery 
of its richness. 

This night he was crowding into the music four 
years of events : of memory, hope, pride, patience and 
affection. He was waiting for someone whom he had 
not seen for these four years. Time passed. More 
and more did the broad sonorous notes fill the room. 
At length they ceased, and with a sigh he pressed the 
violin once, twice, thrice to his lips. 

“ My good Stradivarius,” he said, “ my fearless 
one ! ” 

6 


72 THE trail of the sword. 

Once again he kissed it, and then, drawing his 
hand across his eyes, he slowly wrapped the violin in 
a velvet cloth, put it away in an iron box, and locked 
it up. But presently he changed his mind, took it 
out again, and put it on the table, shaking his head 
musingly. 

“ He will wish to see it, maybe to hear it,” he said 
half aloud. 

Then he turned and went into another room. 
Here there was a prie-dieu in a corner, and above it a 
crucifix. He knelt and was soon absorbed. 

For a time there was silence. At last there was a 
crunching of moccasined feet upon the crisp snow, 
then a slight tap at the outer door, and immediately 
it was opened. A stalwart young man stepped inside. 
He looked round, pleased, astonished. He glanced at 
the violin, then meaningly towards the nearly closed 
door of the other room. Then he pulled off his 
gloves, threw his cap down, and with a significant toss 
of the head, picked up the violin. 

He was a strong, handsome man of about twenty- 
two, with a face at once open and inscrutable : the 
mouth with a trick of smiling, the eyes fearless, con- 
vincing, but having at the same time a look behind 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 


73 


this — an alert, profound speculation, which gave his 
face singular force. He was not so tall as the priest 
in the next room, but still he was very tall, and every 
movement had a lithe supple strength. His body was 
so firm that, as he bent or turned, it seemed as of soft 
flexible metal. 

Despite his fine manliness, he looked very boylike 
as he picked up the violin, and with a silent eager 
laugh put it under his chin, nodding gaily, as he did 
so, towards the other room. He bent his cheek to 
the instrument — almost as brown as the wood itself — 
and made a pass or two in the air with the bow, as if 
to recall a former touch and tune. A satisfied look 
shot up in his face, and then with an almost impossi- 
ble softness he drew the bow across the strings, get- 
ting a distant delicate note, which seemed to float and 
tenderly multiply upon itself — a variation, indeed, of 
the tune which De Casson had played. A rapt look 
came into his eyes. And all that look behind the 
general look of his face — the look which has to do 
with a man’s past or future — deepened and spread, 
till you saw, for once in a way, a strong soldier turned 
artist, yet only what was masculine and strong. The 
music deepened also and as the priest opened the door 


74 THE trail of the sword. 

swept against him like a wind so warm that a mois- 
ture came to his eyes. 

“ Iberville ! ” he said, in a glad voice. “ Pierre ! ” 

The violin was down on the instant. “ My dear 
abbe ! ” And then the two embraced. 

“ How do you like my entrance?” cried the young 
man. “ But I had to provide my own music ! ” He 
laughed, and ran his hands affectionately down the 
arms of the priest. 

“ I had been playing the same old chanson- 
ette ” 

“ With your original variations?” 

“ With my poor variations, just before you came 
in ; and that done ” 

“Yes, yes, abbe, I know the rest: prayers for the 
safe return of the sailor, who for four years or nearly 
has been learning war in King Louis’ ships, and for- 
getting the good old way of fighting by land, at which 
he once served his prentice time — with your blessing, 
my old tutor, my good fighting abbe ! Ho you re- 
member when we stopped those Dutchmen on the 
Richelieu, and you ” 

The priest interrupted with a laugh. “ But, my 


dear Iberville ” 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 


75 


“ It was ‘ Pierre ’ a minute gone, ’twill be ‘ Mon- 
sieur Pierre le Moyne of Iberville ’ next,” the other 
said in mock reproach, as he went to the fire. 

“ No, no ; I merely ” 

“ I understand. Pardon the wild youth who 
plagues his old friend and teacher, as he did long ago 
— so much has happened since.” 

His face became grave and a look of trouble came. 
Presently the priest said, “ I never had a pupil whose 
teasing was so pleasant, poor humourist that I am. 
But now, Pierre, tell me all, while I lay out what the 
pantry holds.” 

The gay look came back into Iberville’s face. 
“Ahem,” he said, — “which is the way to begin a 
wonderful story: Once upon a time a young man, 
longing to fight for his king by land alone, and with 
special fighting of his own to do hard by ” — (here De 
Casson looked at him keenly and a singular light 
came into his eyes) — “ was wheedled away upon the 
king’s ships to France, and so — 

‘ Left the song of the spinning-wheel, 

The hawk and the lady fair, 

And sailed away ’ 

But the song is old and so is the story, abbe ; so 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


76 

here’s the brief note of it. After years of play and 
work— play in France and stout work in the Span- 
iards’ country — he was shipped away to — 

‘ Those battled heights, Quebec heights, our own heights, 
The citadel our golden lily bears, 

And Frontenac ’ 

But 1 babble again. And at Quebec he finds the old 
song changed. The heights and the lilies are there, 
but Frontenac., the great, brave Frontenac, is gone : 
confusion lives where only conquest and honest quar- 
relling were ” 

“ Frontenac will return — there is no other way ! ” 
interposed De Casson. 

“ Perhaps. And the young man looked round 
and lo ! old faces and places had changed. Children 
had grown into women, with children at their breasts ; 
young wives had become matronly ; and the middle- 
aged were slaving servants and apothecaries to make 
them young again. And the young man turned from 
the world he used to know, and said : “ There are but 
three things in the world worth doing — loving, roam- 
ing, and fighting. Therefore, after one day, he 
turned from the poor little Court-game at Quebec, 
travelled to Montreal, spent a few hours with his 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 


77 

father and his brothers, Bienville, Longueil, Mari- 
court, and Sainte-Helene, and then, having sent 
word to his dearest friend, came to see him, and 
found him ” — his voice got softer — “ the same as of 
old : ready with music and wine and aves for the 
prodigal.” 

He paused. The priest had placed meat and wine 
on the table, and now he came and put his hand on 
Iberville’s shoulder. “ Pierre,” he said, “ I welcome 
you as one brother might another, the elder foolishly 
fond.” Then he added, “ I was glad you remembered 
our music.” 

“ My dear De Casson, as if I could forget ! I 
have yet the Maggini you gave me. It was of the 
things for remembering. If we can’t be loyal to our 
first loves, why to anything ? ” 

“ Even so, Pierre ; but few at your age arrive at 
that. Most people learn it when they have bartered 
away every dream. It is enough to have a few honest 
emotions — very few — and stand by them till all be 
done.” 

“ Even hating? ” Iberville’s eyes were eager. 

“ There is such a thing as a noble hate.” 

“ How every inch of you is man ! ” answered the 


78 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


other, clasping the priest's arms. Then he added, 
“ Abbe, you know what I long to hear. You have 
been to New York twice ; you were there within 
these three months ” 

“ And was asked to leave within these three 
months — banished, as it were ! ” 

“ I know. You said in your letter that you had 
news. You were kind to go ” 

“ Perrot went too.” 

“ My faithful Perrot ! I was about to ask of him. 
I had a birch-bark letter from him, and he said he 
would come Ah, here he is ! ” 

He listened. There was a man’s voice singing 
near by. They could even hear the words — 

“‘O the young seigneur! 0 the young seigneur! 

A hundred bucks in a day he slew ; 

And the lady gave him a ribbon to wear, 

And a shred of gold from her golden hair — 

0 the way of a maid was the way he knew ; 

0 the young seigneur ! 0 the young seigneur ! ’ ” 

“ Shall we speak freely before him ? ” said the 
priest. 

“ As freely as you will. Perrot is true. He w r as 
with me too at the beginning.” 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. ft) 

At that moment there came a knock, and in an 
instant the coureur de hois had caught the hands of 
the young man, and was laughing up in his face. 

“ By the good Sainte Anne, but you make Nick 
Perrot a dwarf, dear monsieur ! ” 

“ Well, well, little man, I’ll wager neither the 
great abb6 here nor myself could bring you lower 
than you stand, for all that. Comrade, ’tis kind of 
you to come so prompt.” 

“ What is there so good as the face of an old 
friend ! ” said Perrot, with a little laugh. “ You will 
drink with a new, and eat with a coming friend, and 
quarrel with either ; but ’tis only the old friend that 
knows the old trail, and there’s nothing to a man like 
the way he has come in the world.” 

“ The trail of the good comrade,” said the priest 
softly. 

“ Ah ! ” responded Perrot, “ I remember, abbe, 
when we were at the Portneuf you made some verses 
of that — eh ! eh ! but they were good ! ” 

“ No fitter time,” said Iberville ; “ come, abbe, the 
verses ! ” 

c; No, no ; another day,” answered the priest. 

It was an interesting scene. Perrot, short, broad, 


80 the trail of the sword. 

swarthy, dressed in rude buckskin gaudily orna- 
mented, bandolier and belt garnished with silver, — a 
recent gift of some grateful merchant, — standing be- 
tween the powerful black-robed priest and this gal- 
lant sailor-soldier, richly dressed in fine skins and 
furs, with long waving hair, more like a Viking than 
a man of fashion, and carrying a courtly and yet 
sportive look, as though he could laugh at the miser- 
ies of the sinful world. Three strange comrades were 
these, who knew each other so far as one man can 
know another, yet each knowing from a different 
standpoint. Perrot knew certain traits of Iberville 
of which De Casson was ignorant, and the abbe 
knew many depths which Perrot never even vaguely 
plumbed. And yet all could meet and be free in 
speech, as though each read the other throughly. 

“ Let us begin,” said Iberville. “ I want news of 
New York.” 

“ Let us eat as we talk,” urged the abbe. 

They all sat and were soon eating and drinking 
with great relish. 

Presently the abbe began — 

“ Of my first journey you know by the letter I 
sent you : how I found that Mademoiselle Leveret 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 


81 


was gone to England with her father. That was a 
year after you left, now about three years gone. 
Monsieur Gering entered the navy of the English 
king and went to England also.” 

Iberville nodded. “Yes, yes, in the English navy; 
I know very well of that.” 

The abbe looked up surprised. “From my let- 
ter?” 

“ I saw him once in the Spaniards’ country,” said 
Iberville, “ when we swore to love each other less and 
less.” 

“ What was the trouble?” asked the priest. 

“ Pirates’ booty, which he, with a large force, 
seized as a few of my men were carrying it to the 
coast. With his own hand he cut down my servant, 
who had been with me since from the first. After- 
wards in a parley I saw him, and we exchanged — 
compliments. The sordid gentleman thought I was 
fretting about the booty. Good God ! what are some 
thousand pistoles to the blood of one honest friend ? ” 

“ And in your minds another leaven worked,” ven- 
tured the priest. 

“ Another leaven, as you say,” responded Iberville. 
“ So, for your story, abbA” 


82 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


“ Of the first journey there is nothing more to tell, 
save that the English governor said you were as brave 
a gentleman as ever played ambassador — which was, 
you remember, much in Count Frontenac’s vein.” 

Iberville nodded and smiled. “ Frontenac railed 
at my impertinence also.” 

“ But gave you a sword when you told him the 
news of Rad isson,” interjected Perrot. “And bye and 
bye I’ve things to say of him ! ” 

The abbe continued — “ For my second visit, but a 
few months ago. We priests have gone much among 
the Iroquois, even in the English country, and, as I 
promised you, I went to New York. There I was 
summoned to the governor. He commanded me to 
go back to Quebec. I was about to ask him of Made- 
moiselle when there came a tap at the door. The 
governor looked at me a little sharply. ‘You are,’ 
said he, ‘a friend of Monsieur Iberville. You shall 
know one who keeps him in remembrance.’ Then he 
let the lady enter. She had heard that I was there, 
having seen Perrot first.” 

Here Perrot, with a chuckle, broke in — “ I chanced 
that way, and I had a wish to see what was for seeing ; 
for here was our good abbe alone among the wolves, 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 


83 


and there were Radisson and the immortal Bucklaw, 
of whom there was news.” 

De Casson still continued — “ When I was presented 
she took my hand and said, ‘ Monsieur l’Abbe, I am 
glad to meet a friend — an old friend — of Monsieur 
Iberville. I hear that he has been in France and else- 
where.’ ” 

Here the abbe paused, smiling as if in retrospect, 
and kept looking into the fire and turning about in 
his hand his cassock-cord. 

Iberville had sat very still, his face ruled to quiet- 
ness ; only his eyes showing the great interest he felt. 
He waited, and presently said, “ Yes, and then ? ” 

The abbe withdrew his eyes from the fire and 
turned them upon Iberville. 

“And then,” he said, “ the governor left the room. 
When he had gone she came to me and, laying her 
hand upon my arm, said, 4 Monsieur, I know you are 
to be trusted. You are the friend of a brave man.’ ” 

The abbe paused, and smiled over at Iberville. 

“ You see,” he said, “ her trust was in your friend, 
not in my office. Well, presently she added, ‘I know 
that Monsieur Iberville and Mr. Gering, for a foolish 
quarrel of years ago, still are cherished foes. I wish 


84 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


your help to make them both happier ; for no man can 
be happy and hate.’ And I gave my word to do so.” 

Here Perrot chuckled to himself and interjected 
softly, “ Mon Dieu ! she could make a man say any- 
thing at all. I would have sworn to her that while I 
lived I never should fight. Eh, that’s so ! ” 

“ Allans ! ” said Iberville impatiently, yet grasping 
the arm of the woodsman kindly. 

The abbe once more went on — “ When she had 
ended questioning I said to her, ‘And what message 
shall I give from you?’ ‘Tell him,’ she answered, 
‘ by the right of lifelong debt I ask for peace.’ ‘ Is 
that all ? ’ said I. ‘ Tell him,’ she added, ‘ I hope we 
may meet again.’ ‘ For whose sake,’ said I, ‘ do you 
ask for peace ? ’ ‘ I am a woman,’ she answered, ‘ I 

am selfish — for my own.’ ” 

Again the priest paused, and again Iberville urged 
him. 

“ I asked if she had no token. There was a flame 
in her eye, and she begged me to excuse her. When 
she came back she handed me a little packet. ‘ Give 
it to Monsieur Iberville,’ she said, ‘for it is his. He 
lent it to me years ago. No doubt he has for- 
gotten.’ ” 

° * 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 


85 


At that the priest drew from his cassock a tiny 
packet, and Iberville, taking, opened it. It held a 
silver buckle tied by a velvet ribbon. A flush crept 
slowly up Iberville’s face from his chin to his hair, 
then he sighed, and presently, out of all reason, 
laughed. 

“ Indeed, yes ; it is mine,” he said. “ I very well 
remember when I found it.” 

Here Perrot spoke. “ I very well remember, mon- 
sieur, when she took it from your doublet ; but it was 
on a slipper then ! ” 

Iberville did not answer, hut held the buckle, rub- 
bing it on his sleeve as though to brighten it. “ So 
much for the lady,” he said at last ; “ what more ? ” 

“ I learned,” answered the abbe, “ that Monsieur 
Gering was in Boston, and that he was to go to Fort 
Albany at Hudson’s Bay, where, on our territory, the 
English have set forts.” 

Here Perrot spoke. “ Do you know, monsieur, 
who are the poachers ? No? Eh? No? Well, it is 
that Radisson ! ” 

Iberville turned sharply upon Perrot. “ Are you 
sure of that ? ” he said. “ Are you sure, Nick ? ” 

“ As sure as I’ve a head. And I will tell you 


86 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


more : Radisson was with Bucklaw at the kidnapping. 
I had the pleasure to kill a fellow of Bucklaw’s, and 
he told me that before he died. He also told how 
Bucklaw went with Radisson to the Spaniard’s 
country treasure-hunting. Ah ! these are many fools 
in the world. They did not get the treasure. They 
quarrelled, and Radisson went to the far north, Buck- 
law to the far south. The treasure is where it was. 
Eh hien! Such is the way of asses.” 

Iberville was about to speak. 

“ But wait,” said Perrot, with a slow, tantalising 
smile ; “ it is not wise to hurry. I have a mind to 
know ; so while I am at Hew York I go to Boston. 
It makes a man’s mind great to travel. I have 
been east to Boston, I have been west beyond the 
Ottawa and the Michilimackinac, out to the Mis- 
sissippi. Yes. Well, what did I find in Boston? 
Peste! I found that they were all like men in 
purgatory — sober and grave. Truly ! And so dull ! 
Never a saint-day, never a feast, never a grand 
council when the wine, the rum, flow so free, and you 
shall eat till you choke. Nothing. Everything is 
stupid ; they do not smile. And so the Indians make 
war ! Well, I have found this. There is a great man 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 87 

from the Kennebec called William Phips. He has 
traded in the Indies. Once while he was there he 
heard of that treasure. Ha ! ha ! There have been 
so many fools on that trail. The governor of New 
York was a fool when Bucklaw played his game ; he 
would have been a greater if he had gone with Buck- 
law.” 

Here Iberville would have spoken, hut Perrot 
waved his hand. u De grace, a minute only. Mon- 
sieur Gering, the brave English lieutenant, is at Hud- 
son’s Bay, and next summer he will go with the great 
William Phips — Tonnerre — what a name — William 
Phips! Like a pot of herring! He will go with 
him after the same old treasure. Boston is a big 
place, but I hear these things.” 

Usually a man of few words, Perrot had bursts of 
eloquence, and this was one of them. But having 
made his speech, he settled back to his tobacco and 
into the orator’s earned repose. 

Iberville looked up from the fire and said, “Perrot, 
you saw her in New York. What speech was there 
between you ? ” 

Perrot’s eyes twinkled. “ There was not much 

said. I put myself in her way. When she saw me 
7 


88 THE. TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 

her cheek came like a peach-blossom. ‘ A very good 
morning, ma’m’selle,’ said I, in English. She smiled 
and said the same. ‘ And your master, where is he ? ’ 
she asked with a fine smile. ‘ My friend Monsieur 
Iberville ? ’ I said ; ‘ ah ! he will be in Quebec soon.’ 
Then I told her of the abbe, and she took from a 
chain a little medallion and gave it me in memory of 
the time we saved her. And before I could say, Thank 
you, she had gone. Well, that is all— except this.” 

He drew from his breast a chain of silver, from 
which hung the gold medallion, and shook his head 
at it with good-humour. But presently a hard look 
came on his face, and he was changed from the cheer- 
ful woodsman into the chief of bushrangers. Iber- 
ville read the look, and presently said — 

“ Perrot, men have fought for less than gold from 
a woman’s chain and a buckle from her shoe.” 

“I have fought from Trois Pistoles to Michili- 
mackinac for the toss of a louis-d’or.” 

“As you say. Well, what think you ” 

He paused, rose, walked up and down the room, 
caught his moustache between his teeth once or twice, 
and seemed buried in thought. Once or twice he was 
about to speak, but changed his mind. He was cal- 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 


89 


dilating many things : planning, counting chances, 
marshalling his resources. Presently he glanced 
round the room. His eyes fell on a map. That was 
it. It was a mere outline, but enough. Putting his 
finger on it, he sent it up, up, up, till it settled on the 
shores of Hudson’s Bay. Again he ran the finger 
from the St. Lawrence up the coast and through 
Hudson’s Straits, but shook his head in negation. 
Then he stood, looked at the map steadily, and pres- 
ently, still absorbed, turned to the table. He saw the 
violin. He picked it up and handed it to De Casson. 

“ Something with a smack of war,” he said. 

“ And a woman for me,” added Perrot. 

The abbe shook his head musingly at Perrot, took 
the violin, and gathered it to his chin. At first he 
played as if in wait of something that eluded him. 
But all at once he floated into a powerful melody, as 
a creek trails softly through a weir, and after many 
wanderings all at once broadens suddenly into a great 
stream. He had found his theme. Its effect was 
striking. Through Iberville’s mind there ran a hun- 
dred incidents of his life, one chasing upon the other 
without sequence — phantasmagoria out of the scene- 
house of memory : — 


90 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


The light upon the arms of De Tracy’s soldiers 
when they inarched up Mountain Street many years 
before — The frozen figure of a man standing upright 
in the plains — A procession of canoes winding down 
past Two Mountains, the wild chant of the Indians 
joining with the romantic songs of the yoyageurs — A 
girl flashing upon the drawn swords of two lads — 
King Louis giving his hand to one of these lads to 
kiss — A lady of the Court for whom he might easily 
have torn his soul to rags, hut for a fair-faced English 
girl, ever like a delicate medallion in his eye — A fight 
with the English in the Spaniards’ country — His 
father blessing him as he went forth to France — A 
dark figure taking a hundred shapes, and yet always 
meaning the same as when he — Iberville — said over 
the governor’s table in Kew York, “ Foolish boy ! ” — 
A vast stretch of lonely forest, in the white coverlet 
of winter, through which sounded now and then the 
loom-loom of a bursting tree — A few score men upon 
a desolate northern track, silent, desperate, coura- 
geous; a forlorn hope on the edge of the Arctic circle, 
with the joy of conquest in their bones, and at their 
thighs the swords of men. 

These are a few of the pictures, but the last of 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 


91 


them had not to do with the past : a dream grown 
into a fact, shaped by the music, become at once an 
emotion and a purpose. 

Iberville had now driven home the first tent-peg 
of a wonderful adventure. Under the spell of that 
music his body seemed to grow larger. He fingered 
his sword, and presently caught Perrot by the shoulder 
and said, “ We will do it, Perrot ! ” 

Perrot got to his feet. He understood. He nod- 
ded and -seized Iberville’s hand. “ Bravo ! There 
was nothing else to do,” he replied. 

De Casson lowered his violin. “ What do you 
intend?” he asked gravely. 

Iberville took his great hand and pressed it. “ To 
do what you will commend, abbe : at Hudson’s Bay 
to win back forts the English have taken, and get 
those they have built.” 

“You have another purpose,” added De Casson 
softly. 

“ Abbe, that is between me and my conscience ; 
I go for my king and country against our 
foes.” 

“ Who will go with you? — You will lead?” 

“Hot I to lead — that involves me.” Iberville’s 


92 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


face darkened. “ I wish more freedom, but still to 
lead in fact.” 

“ But who will lead ? And who will go ? ” 

“ De Troyes, perhaps, to lead. To go, my brothers 
Sainte-Helene and Maricourt, Perrot and a stout 
company of his men ; and then I fear not treble as 
many English.” 

The priest did not seem satisfied. Presently Iber- 
ville, with a winning smile, ran an arm over his 
shoulder and added, “We cannot go without you, 
Dollier.” 

The priest’s face cleared, and a moment afterwards 
the three comrades shook hands together. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

AS SEEN THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 

When King Louis and King James called for 
peace, they could not know that it was as little pos- 
sible to their two colonies as between rival buccaneers. 
New France was full of bold spirits who loved con- 
quest for conquest’s sake. Besides, in this case there 
was a force at work, generally unknown, but as pow- 
erful as the convincing influence of an army. Behind 
the worst and the best acts of Charles II was a wom- 
an. Behind the glories and follies of Louis XIV was 
also a woman. Behind some of the most striking 
incidents in the history of New France, New Eng- 
land, and New York, was a woman. 

We saw her when she was but a child — the centre 
of singular events. Years had passed. Not one of 
those events had gone for nothing ; each was bearing 
fruit after its kind. 


( 93 ) 


94 


THE TRAIL OP THE SWORD. 


She is sitting alone in a room of a large, un- 
handsome house, facing on Boston Harbour. It is 
evening. The room itself is of dark wood, and even- 
ing has thrown it into gloom. Yet somehow the girl’s 
face has a light of its own. She is turned fair to- 
wards the window, and is looking out to sea. A mist 
is rising from the water, and the shore is growing 
grey and heavy as the light in the west recedes and 
night creeps in from the ocean. She watches the 
waves and the mist till all is mist without; a scene 
which she had watched, how often she could not 
count. The night closes in entirely upon her, but 
she does not move. At last the door of the room 
opens and someone enters and closes it again. 

“ My daughter ! ” says an anxious voice. “ Are you 
here, Jessica? ” 

“ I am here, father,” is the reply. 

“ Shall we have lights ? ” 

“ As you will.” 

Even as they speak a servant enters, and lighted 
candles are put upon the table. They are alone 
again. Both are pale. The girl stands very still, 
and so quiet is her face, one could never guess that 
she is passing through the tragic moment of her life. 


AS SEEN THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 95 

“ What is your answer, Jessica?” he asks. 

“ I will marry him when he comes back.” 

“ Thank God ! ” is the old man’s acknowledg- 
ment. “ You have saved our fortunes ! ” 

The girl sighs, and then, with a little touch 

m 

of that demure irony which we had seen in her 
years before, says, “ I trust we have not lost our 
honour.” 

“ Why, you love him, do you not ? There is no 
one you care for more than George Gering ? ” 

“ I suppose not,” is her reply, but the tone is enig- 
matical. 

While this scene is on, another appears in Cheap- 
side, London. A man of bold and vigorous bearing 
comes from the office of a well-known solicitor. That 
very morning he had had an interview with the King, 
and had been reminded with more exactness than 
kindness that he had cost King Charles a ship, scores 
of men, and thousands of pounds, in a fruitless search 
for buried treasure in Hispaniola. When he had 
urged his case upon the basis of fresh information, he 
was drily told that the security was too scant, even 
for a king. He had then pleaded his case to the 


96 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


Duke of Albemarle and other distinguished gentle- 
men. They were seemingly convinced, but withheld 
their answer till the following morning. 

But William Phips, stubborn adventurer, destined 
to receive all sorts of honours in his time, has no in- 
tention of quitting London till he has his way ; and 
this is his thought as he steps into Cheapside, having 
already made preparations upon the chance of suc- 
cess. He has gone so far as to purchase a ship, called 
the Bridgwater Merchant , from an alderman in Lon- 
don, though he has not a hundred guineas at his dis- 
posal. As he stands debating a hand touches his arm 
and a voice says in his ear, “ You were within a mile 
of it with the Algier Rose , two years' ago.” 

The great adventurer turns. “ The devil I was ! 
And who are you ? ” 

Satanic humour plays in the stranger’s eyes as he 
answers, “ I am Edward Bucklaw, pirate and keeper 
of the treasure-house in the La Planta River.” 

“Blood of Judas!” Phips says, “how dare you 
speak to me ? I’ll have you in yon prison for an un- 
hung rascal ! ” 

“ Ah ! you are a great man,” is the unmoved re- 
ply. “I knew you’d feel that way. But if you’ll 


AS SEEN THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 97 

listen for five minutes, down here at the Bull-and- 
Daisy, there shall be peace between us.” 

An hour later, Phips, following Bucklaw’s instruc- 
tions, is tracing on a map the true location of the lost 
galleon’s treasure. 

“ Then,” says Bucklaw, “ we are comrades ? ” 

“ We are adventurers.” 

Another scene. In a northern inland sea two men 
are standing on the deck of a ship : the one stalwart, 
clear-eyed, with a touch of strong reserve in face and 
manner ; the other of middle height, with sinister 
look. The former is looking out silently upon the 
great locked hummocks of ice surrounding the vessel. 
It is the early morning. The sun is shining with 
that hard brightness only seen in the Arctic world, — 
keen as silver, cold as steel. It plays upon the hum- 
mocks, and they send out shafts of light at fantastic 
angles, and a thin blue line runs between the almost 
unbearable general radiance and the sea of ice stretch- 
ing indefinitely away. But to the west is a shore, and 
on it stands a fort and a few detached houses. Upon 
the walls of the fort are some guns, and the British 
flag is flying above. Beyond these again are the 


98 THE trail of the sword. 

plains of the north — the home of the elk, musk-ox, 
silver fox, the white bear and the lonely races of the 
Pole. Here and there, in the south-west, an island of 
pines breaks the monotony, but to the north there is 
only the white silence, the terrible and yet beautiful 
trail of the Arctic. 

The smaller man stands swinging his arms for 
warmth ; the smack of the leather in the clear air like 
the report of a gun. Presently, stopping his exercise, 
he says : — 

“ Well, monsieur, what do you say?” 

Slowly the young man withdraws his eyes from 
the scene and turns. 

“ Radisson,” he says, “ this is much the same story 
as Bucklaw told Governor Nicholls. How come you 
to know of it ? ” 

“ You remember, I was proclaimed four years ago? 
Well, afterwards I fell in with Bucklaw. I sailed with 
him to the Spaniards’ country, and we might have got 
the treasure, but we quarrelled ; there was a fight, and 
I — well, we end. Bucklaw was taken by the French 
and was carried to France. He was a fool to look for 
the treasure with a poor ship and a worse crew. He 
was for getting William Phips, a man of Boston, to 


AS SEEN THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 99 

work with him, for Phips had got something of the 
secret from an old sailor, but when he would have 
got him, Phips was on his way with a ship of King 
Charles’s. I will tell you something more. Made- 
moiselle Leveret’s ” 

“ What do you know of Mademoiselle Leveret ? ” 

“ A little. Mademoiselle’s father lost much money 
in Phips’ expedition.” 

“ How know you that ? ” 

“ I have ears. You have promised to go with 
Phips. Is it not so ? ” 

“What then?” 

“ I will go with you.” 

“ Booty ? ” 

“ No, revenge.” 

“ On whom?” 

“ The man you hate — Iberville.” 

Gering’s face darkens. “We are not likely to 
meet.” 

“ Pardon ! very likely. Six months ago he was 
coming back from France. He will find you. I 
know the race.” 

A sneer is on Gering’s face. “Freebooters, out- 
laws like yourself ! ” 


100 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


“ Not so, gentlemen, monsieur ; noble outlaws. 
What is it that once or twice they have quarrelled 
with the governor, and because they would not yield 
have been proclaimed ? Nothing. Proclaimed yester- 
day, to-day at Court. No, no ; I hate Iberville, but he 
is a great man.” 

In the veins of the renegade is still latent the 
pride of race. He is a villain, but he knows the 
height from which he fell. “ He will find you, mon- 
sieur,” he repeats. “ When a Le Moyne is the hunter 
he never will kennel till the end. Besides, there is 
the lady ! ” 

“ Silence ! ” 

Radisson knows that he has said too much. His 
manner changes. “ You will let me go with you ? ” 

The Englishman remembers that this scoundrel 
was with Bucklaw, although he does not know that 
Radisson was one of the abductors. 

“ Never ! ” he says, and turns upon his heel. 

A moment after and the two have disappeared 
from the lonely pageant of ice and sun. Man has 
disappeared, but his works — houses and ships and 
walls and snow-topped cannon — lie there in the hard 
grasp of the North, while the White Weaver, at the 


AS SEEN THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 101 

summit of the world, is shuttling these lives into the 
woof of battle, murder and sudden death. 

On the shore of the La Planta River a man lies 
looking into the sunset. So sweet, so beautiful is the 
landscape, — the deep foliage, the scent of flowers, the 
flutter of bright- winged birds, the fern-grown walls of a 
ruined town, the wallowing eloquence of the river, the 
sonorous din of the locust, — that none could think this 
a couch of death. A Spanish priest is making ready 
for that last long voyage, when the soul of man sloughs 
the dross of earth. Beside him kneels another priest 
— a Frenchman of the same order. 

The dying man feebly takes from his breast a 
packet and hands it to his friend. 

“ It is as I have said,” he whispers. “ Others may 
guess, but I know. I know — and another. The rest 
are all dead. There were six of us, and all were killed 
save myself. We were poisoned by a Spaniard. He 
thought he had killed all, but I lived. He also was 
killed by one Bucklaw, an English pirate. He has 
the secret. Once he came with a ship to find, but 
there was trouble and he did not go on. An English- 
man also came with the king’s ship, but he did not 


102 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


find. But I know that the man Bucklaw will come 
again. It should not be. Listen : A year ago, and 
something more, I was travelling to the coast. Erom 
there I was to sail for Spain. I had lost the chart of 
the river then. I was taken ill and I should have 
died, but a young French officer stayed his men beside 
me and cared for me, and had me carried to the coast, 
where I recovered. I did not go to Spain, and I found 
the chart of the river again.” 

There is a pause, in which the deep breathing of 
the dying man mingles with the low wash of the river, 
and presently he speaks again. “ I vowed then that 
he should know. As God is our Father, swear that 
you will give this packet to himself only.” 

The priest, in reply, lifts the crucifix from the 
dying man’s breast and puts his lips to it. The 
world seems not to know, so cheerful is it all, that, 
with a sob, — that sob of farewell which the soul gives 
the body, — the spirit of a man is passing the mile- 
posts called Life, Time, and Eternity. 

Yet another glance into passing incidents before 
we follow the straight trail of our story. In the city 
of Montreal fourscore men are kneeling in a little 


AS SEEN THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 103 

church, as the mass is slowly chanted at the altar. 
All of them are armed. By the flare of the torches 
and the candles — for it is not daybreak yet — you can 
see the flash of a scabbard, the glint of a knife, and 
the sheen of a bandolier. 

Presently, from among them, one man rises, goes 
to the steps of the sanctuary and kneels. He is the 
leader of the expedition, the Chevalier de Troyes, the 
chosen of the governor. A moment, and three other 
men rise and come and kneel beside him. These are 
three brothers, and one we know — gallant, imperious, 
cordial, having the superior ease of the courtier. 

The four receive a blessing from a massive, hand- 
some priest, whose face, as it bends over Iberville, sud- 
denly flushes with feeling. Presently the others rise, 
but Iberville remains an instant longer, as if loth to 
leave. The priest whispers to him, “ Be strong, be 
just, be merciful.” 

The young man lifts his eyes to the priest’s. “ I 
will be just, abbe ! ” 

Then the priest makes the sacred gesture over him. 


8 


CHAPTER IX. 


TO THE PORCH OF THE WORLD. 

The English colonies never had a race of woods- 
men like the coureurs de lois of New France. These 
were a strange mixture : French peasants, half-breeds 
Canadian-born Frenchmen, gentlemen of birth with 
lives and fortunes gone askew, and many of the native 
Canadian noblesse, who, like the nobles of France, 
forbidden to become merchants, became adventurers 
with the coureurs de hois, who were ever with them 
in spirit more than with the merchant. The peasant 
prefers the gentleman to the bourgeois as his compan- 
ion. Many a coureur de hois divided his tale of furs 
with a distressed noble or seigneur, who dare not work 
in the fields. 

The veteran Charles le Moyne, with his sons, each 
of whom played a daring and important part in the 
history of New France, — Iberville greatest, — was one 
of the few merchants in whom was combined the 

( 104 ) 


TO THE PORCH OP THE WORLD. 105 

trader and the noble. But he was a trader by pro- 
fession before he became a seigneur. In his veins 
was a strain of noble blood ; but, leaving France and 
settling in Canada, he avoided the little Court at 
Quebec, went to Montreal, and there began to lay the 
foundation of his fame and fortune, and to send forth 
men who were as the sons of Jacob. In his heart he 
was always in sympathy with the woodsmen, and when 
they were proclaimed as perilous to the peace and 
prosperity of the king’s empire, he stood stoutly by 
them. Adventurers, they traded as they listed ; and 
when the Intend ant Duchesnau could not bend them 
to his greedy will, they were to be caught and hanged 
wherever found. King Louis hardly guessed that to 
carry out that order would be to reduce greatly the 
list of his Canadian noblesse. It struck a blow at the 
men who, in one of the letters which the grim Fron- 
tenac sent to Versailles not long before his death, were 
rightly called “ The King’s Traders ’’ — more truly 
such than any others in New France. 

Whether or not the old seigneur knew it at the 
time, three of his own sons were among the coureurs 
de hois — chieftains by courtesy — when they were pro- 
claimed. And it was like Iberville, that, then only a 


106 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


lad, he came in from the woods, went to his father, 
and astonished him by asking for his blessing. Then 
he started for Quebec, and arriving there with Perrot 
and Du Lhut, went to the citadel at night and asked, 
to be admitted to Count Frontenac. Perhaps the 
governor — grand half-barbarian as he was at heart — 
guessed the nature of the visit and before he admitted 
Iberville, dismissed those who were with him. There 
is in an old letter still preserved by an ancient family 
of France, an account of this interview, told by a 
cynical young nobleman. Iberville alone was ad- 
mitted. His excellency greeted his young visitor 
courteously, yet with hauteur. 

“You bring strange comrades to visit your gov* 
ernor, Monsieur Iberville,” he said. 

“ Comrades in peace, your excellency, comrades in 
war.” 

“ What war ? ” 

“ The king makes war against the coureurs de hois. 
There is a price on the heads of Perrot and Du Lhut. 
We are all in the same boat.” 

“You speak in riddles, sir.” 

“ I speak of riddles. Perrot and Du Lhut are 
good friends of the king. They have helped your 


TO THE PORCH OF THE WORLD. 107 

excellency with the Indians a score of times. Their 
men have been a little roystering, but that’s no sin. 
I am one with them, and I am as good a subject as 
the king has.” 

“ Why have you come here ? ” 

“ To give myself up. If you shoot Perrot or Du 
Lhut you will have to shoot me ; and, if you carry on 
the matter, your excellency will not have enough gen- 
tlemen to play Tartuffe .” 

This last remark referred to a quarrel which Fron- 
tenac had had with the bishop, who inveighed against 
the governor’s intention of producing Tartuffe at the 
chateau. 

Iberville’s daring was quite as remarkable as the 
position in which he had placed himself. With a 
lesser man than Frontenac it might have ended badly. 
But himself, courtier as he was, had ever used hero- 
ical methods, and appreciated the reckless courage of 
youth. With grim humour he put all three under 
arrest, made them sup with him, and sent them away 
secretly before morning — free. Before Iberville left, 
the governor had word with him alone. 

“ Monsieur,” he said, “ you have a keen tongue, 
but our king needs keen swords, and since you have 


108 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


the advantage of me in this, I shall take care you pay 
the bill. We have had enough of outlawry. You 
shall fight by rule and measure soon.” 

“ In your excellency’s bodyguard, I hope,” was the 
instant reply. 

“ In the king’s navy,” answered Erontenac, with a 
smile, for he was pleased with the frank flattery. 

A career different from that of George Gering, 
who, brought up with Puritans, had early learned to 
take life seriously, had little of Iberville’s gay spirit, 
but was just such a determined, self-conscious Eng- 
lishman as anyone could trust and admire, and none 
but an Englishman love. 

And Jessica Leveret? Wherever she had been 
during the past four years, she had stood between 
these two men, regardful, wondering, waiting ; and at 
last, as we know, casting the die against the enemy of 
her country. But was it cast after all ? 

Immediately after she made a certain solemn 
promise, recorded in the last chapter, she went once 
again to New York to visit Governor Mcholls. She 
had been there some months before, but it was only 
for a few weeks, and then she had met Dollier de 
Casson and Perrot. That her mind was influenced 


TO THE PORCH OF THE WORLD. 


109 


by memory of Iberville we may guess, but in what 
fashion who can say? It is not in mortal man to 
resolve the fancies of women or interpret the shadowy 
inclinations, the timid revulsions, which move them — 
they cannot tell why, any more than we. They would 
indeed be thankful to be solved unto themselves. 
The great moment for a man with a woman is when, 
by some clear guess or some special providence, he 
shows her in a flash her own mind. Her respect, her 
serious wonder, are all then making for his glory. 
Wise and happy if by a further tough of genius he 
seizes the situation : henceforth he is her master. 
George Gering and Jessica had been children to- 
gether, and he understood her, perhaps, as did no one 
else, save her father ; though he never made good use 
of his knowledge, nor did he touch that side of her 
which was purely feminine — her sweet inconsistency ; 
therefore, he was not her master. 

But he had appealed to her, for he had courage, 
strong ambition, thorough kindness, and fine char- 
acter, only marred by a want of temperament. She 
had avoided as long as she could the question which, 
on his return from service in the navy, he asked her, 
almost without warning ; and with a touch of her old 


110 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


demureness and gayety, she had put him off, bidding 
him go win his laurels as commander. He was then 
commissioned for Hudson’s Bay, and expected, on his 
return, to proceed to the Spaniards’ country with 
William Phips, if that brave gentleman succeeded 
with the king or his nobles. He had gone north with 
his ship, and, as we have seen, when Iberville started 
on that almost impossible journey, was preparing to 
return to Boston. As he waited Iberville came on. 


CHAPTER X. 


QUI TIVE ! 

From Land’s End to John o’Groat’s is a long 
tramp, but that from Montreal to Hudson’s Bay is far 
longer, and yet many have made it ; more, however, 
in the days of which we are writing than now, and 
with greater hardships also then. But weighed 
against the greater hardships there was a bolder tem- 
per and a more romantic spirit. 

How strange and severe a journey it was, only 
those can tell who have travelled those wastes, even in 
these later days, when paths have been beaten down 
from Mount Royal to the lodges of the North. When 
they started, the ice had not yet all left the Ottawa 
River, and they wound their way through crowding 
floes, or portaged here and there for miles, the eager 
sun of spring above with scarcely a cloud to trail be- 
hind him. At last the river cleared, and for leagues 

they travelled to the north-west, and came at last to 
(ill) 


112 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


the Lake of the Winds. They travelled across one 
corner of it, to a point where they would strike an 
unknown path to Hudson’s Bay. 

Iberville had never before seen this lake, and, with 
all his knowledge of great proportions, he was not 
prepared for its splendid vastness. They came upon 
it in the evening, and camped beside it. They 
watched the sun spread out his banners, presently veil 
his head in them, and sink below the world. And 
between them and that sunset was a vast rock stretch- 
ing out from a ponderous shore — a colossal stone lion, 
resting Sphinx-like, keeping its faith with the ages. 
Alone, the warder of the West, stormy, menacing, 
even the vernal sun could give it little cheerfulness. 
But to Iberville and his followers it brought no gloom 
at night, nor yet in the morning when all was 
changed, and a soft, silver mist hung over the “ great 
water,” like dissolving dew, through which the sun- 
light came with a strange solemn delicacy. Upon the 
shore were bustle, cheerfulness, and song, until every 
canoe was launched, and then the band of warriors 
got in, and presently were away in the haze. 

The long bark canoes, with lofty prows, stained 
with powerful dyes, slid along this path swiftly, the 


QUI VIVE! 


113 


paddles noiselessly cleaving the water with the pre- 
cision of a pendulum. One followed the other with a 
space between, so that Iberville, in the first, looking 
back, could see a diminishing procession, the last 
seeming large and weird — almost a shadow — as it 
were a part of the weird atmosphere. On either 
side was that soft plumbless diffusion, and ahead 
the secret of untravelled wilds and the fortunes 
of war. 

As if by common instinct, all gossip ceased soon 
after they left the shore, and, cheerful as was the 
French Canadian, he was — and is — superstitious. He 
saw sermons in stones, books in the running brooks, 
and the supernatural in everything. Simple, hardy, 
occasionally bloody, he was ever on the watch for 
signs and wonders ; and a phase of nature influenced 
him after the manner of a being with a temperament. 
Often as some of the woodsmen and rivermen had 
seen this strange effect, they now made the sacred 
gesture as they ran on. The pure moisture lay like a 
fine exudation on their brown skins, glistened on 
their black hair, and hung from their beards, giving 
them a mysterious look. The colours of their canoes 
and clothes were softened by the dim air and long 


114 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


use, and there seemed to accompany each boat and 
each person an atmosphere within this other haze, a 
spiritual kind of exhalation ; so that one might have 
thought them, with the crucifixes on their breasts and 
that unworldly, distinguished look which comes to 
those who live much with nature, as sons of men 
going upon such mission as did they who went into 
the far land with Arthur. 

But the silence could not be maintained for long. 
The first flush of the impression gone, these half- 
barbarians, with the simple hearts of children, must 
rise from the almost melancholy, somewhat religious, 
mood into which they had been cast. As Iberville, 
with Sainte-Helene and Perrot, sat watching the 
canoes that followed, with voyageurs erect in bow and 
stern, a voice in the next canoe, with a half-chanting 
modulation, began a song of wild-life. Voice after 
voice slowly took it up, until it ran along the whole 
procession. A verse was sung, then a chorus alto- 
gether, then a refrain of one verse which was sung by 
each boat in succession to the last. As the refrain of 
this was sung by the last boat it seemed to come out 
of the great haze behind. Verses of the old song are 
still preserved — 


QUI VIVE! 


115 


“ Qui vive ! 

Who is it cries in the dawn — 

Cries when the stars go down? 

Who is it comes through the mist — 
The mist that is fine like lawn, 

The mist like an angel’s gown? 

Who is it comes in the dawn? 

Qui vive ! Qui vive ! in the dawn. 

“ Qui vive ! 

Who is it passeth us by, 

Still in the dawn and the mist? 

Tall seigneur of the dawn : 

A two-edged sword at his thigh, 

A shield of gold at his wrist: 

Who is it hurrieth by ? 

Qui vive ! Qui vive ! in the dawn.” 


Under the influence of this beautiful mystery of 
the dawn, the slow thrilling song, and the strange, 
happy loneliness — as though they were in the wash 
between two worlds, Iberville got the great inspiration 
of his life. He would be a discoverer, the faithful 
captain of his king, a trader in provinces. . . . 

And in that he kept his word — years after ; but he 
kept it. There came with this, what always comes to 
a man of great ideas : the woman who should share 
his prowess. Such a man if forced to choose between 


116 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


the woman and the idea, will ever decide for the 
woman after he has married her, sacrificing what — 
however much he hides it — lies behind all. But he 
alone knows what he has sacrificed. For it is in the 
order of things that the great man shall be first the 
maker of kingdoms and homes, and then the husband 
of his wife and a begetter of children. Iberville 
knew that this woman was not more to him than the 
feeling just come to him, but he knew also that while 
the one remained the other would also. 

He stood up and folded his arms, looking into the 
silence and mist. His hand mechanically dropped to 
his sword, and he glanced up proudly to the silver flag 
with its golden lilies floating softly on the slight 
breeze the^ made as they passed. 

“ The sword ! ” he said under his breath. “ The 
world and a woman by the sword ; there is no other 
way.” 

He had the spirit of his time. The sword was its 
faith, its magic. If two men loved a woman, the 
natural way to make happiness for all was to let the 
sword do its eager office. For they had one of the 
least-believed and most unpopular of truths, that a 
woman’s love is more a matter of mastery and posses- 


QUI VIVE ! 117 

sion than instinct, two men being of comparatively 
equal merit — and manners. 

His figure seemed to grow larger in the mist, and 
the grey haze gave his hair a frosty coating, so that 
age and youth seemed strangely mingled in him. He 
stood motionless for a long time as the song went on — 
“ Qui vive ! 

Who saileth into the morn, 

Out of the wind of the dawn ? — 

‘ Follow, oh, follow me on ! ’ 

Calleth a distant horn. 

He is here — he is there — he is gone, 

Tall seigneur of the dawn ! 

Qui vive ! Qui vive ! in the dawn.” 

Someone touched Iberville’s arm. It was D oilier 
de Casson. Iberville turned to him, but they did not 
speak at first — the priest knew his friend well. 

“We shall succeed, abbe,” Iberville said. 

“ May our quarrel be a just one, Pierre ! ” was the 
grave reply. 

“The forts are our king’s; the man is with my 
conscience, my dear friend.” 

“ But if you make sorrow for the woman ? ” 

“You brought me a gift from her!” His finger 
touched his doublet. 


113 THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 

“ She is English, my Pierre.” 

“ She is what God made her.” 

“ She may be sworn to the man.” 

Iberville started, then shook his head incredulously. 
“ He is not worthy of her.” 

“Are you?” 

“ I know her value better and prize it more.” 

“ You have not seen her for four years.” 

“ I had not seen you for four years — and yet ! ” 

“ You saw her then only for a few days — and she 
was so young ! ” 

“ What are days or years ? Things lie deep in us 
till some great moment, and then they spring into life 
and are ours forever. When I kissed King Louis’ 
hand I knew that I loved my king ; when De Monte- 
span’s, I hated, and shall hate always. When I first 
saw this English girl I waked from youth, I was born 
again into the world. I had no doubts, I have none 
now.” 

“ And the man ? ” 

“ One knows one’s enemy even as the other. 
There is no way but this, Dollier. He is the enemy 
of my king, and he is greatly in my debt. Remember 
the Spaniards’ country ! ” 


QUI VIVE! 


119 


He laid a hand upon his sword. The face of the 
priest was calm and grave, but in his eyes was a deep 
fire. At heart he was a soldier, a loyalist, a gentle- 
man of France. Perhaps there came to him then the 
dreams of his youth, before a thing happened which 
made him at last a servant of the Church after he had 
been a soldier of the king. 

Presently the song of the voyageurs grew less, the 
refrain softened and passed down the long line, and, 
as it were, from out of far mists came the muffled 
challenge — 

“ Qui vive ! Qui vive ! in the dawn.” 

Then a silence fell once more. But presently 
from out of the mists there came, as it were, the echo 
of their challenge — 

“ Qui vive ! Qui vive ! in the dawn. ,r 

The paddles stilled in the water and a thrill ran 
through the line of voyageurs, — even Iberville and his 
friends were touched by it. 

Then there suddenly emerged from the haze on 
their left, ahead of them, a long canoe with tall fig- 
ures in bow and stern, using paddles. They wore 
long cloaks, and feathers waved from their heads. In 


120 THE trail of the sword. 

the centre of the canoe was what seemed a body 
under a pall, at its head and feet small censers. The 
smell of the wood came to them, and a little trail of 
sweet smoke was left behind as the canoe swiftly 
passed into the mist on the other side and was 
gone. 

It had been seen vaguely. No one spoke, no one 
challenged ; it had come and gone like a dream. 
What it was, no one, not even Iberville, could guess, 
though he thought it a pilgrimage of burial, such as 
was sometimes made by distinguished members of 
Indian tribes. Or it may have been — which is like- 
ly — a dead priest being carried south by Indian 
friends. 

The impression left upon the party was, however, 
characteristic. There was none but, with the smell of 
the censers in his nostrils, made the sacred gesture ; and 
had the Jesuit Silvy or the Abbe de Casson been so 
disposed, the event might have been made into the 
supernatural. 

After a time the mist cleared away, and nothing 
could be seen on the path they had travelled but the 
plain of clear water and the distant shore they had 
left. Ahead of them was another shore, and they 


QUI VIVE! !21 

reached this at last. Where the mysterious canoe had 
vanished, none could tell. 

Days upon days they travelled, with incredible 
labour, now portaging over a stubborn country, now 
placing their lives in hazard as they shot down un- 
travelled rapids. 

One day on the Black Wing River a canoe was 
torn open and its three occupants were thrown into 
the rapids. Two of them were expert swimmers and 
were able to catch the stern of another canoe as it ran 
by, and reached safe water, bruised hut alive. The 
third was a boy, Maurice Joval, the youngest of the 
party, whom Iberville had been at first loth to bring 
with him. But he had remembered his own ambi- 
tious youth, and had consented, persuading De Troyes 
that the lad was worth encouragement. His canoe 
was not far behind when the other ran on the rocks. 
He saw the lad struggle bravely and strike out, but a 
cross current caught him and carried him towards the 
steep shore. There he was thrown against a rock. 
His strength seemed to fail, but he grasped the rock. 
It was scraggy, and though it tore and bruised him he 
clung to it. 

Iberville threw off his doublet, and prepared to 


122 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


spring as his boat came down. But another had made 
ready. It was the abbe, with his cassock gone, and 
his huge form showing finely. He laid his hand upon 
Iberville’s arm. “ Stay here,” he said, “I go ; I am 
the stronger.” 

But Iberville, as cries of warning and appeal rang 
out around him, — the drowning lad had not cried out 
at all, — sprang into the water. Not alone : the abbe 
looked around him, made the sacred gesture, and then 
sprang also into an eddy a distance below, and at an 
angle made his way up towards the two. Priest 
though he was, he was also an expert riverman, and 
his vast strength served him royally. He saw Iber- 
ville tossed here and there but with impossible 
strength and good fortune reach the lad. The two 
grasped each other and then struck out for the high 
shore. De Casson seemed to know what would hap- 
pen. He altered his course, and making for the shore 
also at a point below, reached it. He saw with a kind 
of despair that it was steep and had no trees, yet his 
keen eyes also saw, not far below, the dwarfed bole of 
a tree jutting out from the rock. There lay the 
chance. Below this was a great turmoil of rapids. A 
prayer mechanically passed the priest’s lips, though 


QUI VIVE ! 


123 

his thoughts were those of a warrior then. He almost 
enjoyed the danger for himself : his fear was for Iber- 
ville and for the motherless boy. 

He had guessed and hoped aright. Iberville, sup- 
porting the now senseless boy, swung down the mad 
torrent, his eyes blinded with blood so that he could 
not see. But he heard De Casson’s voice, and 
with a splendid effort threw himself and the lad 
towards it. The priest also fought upwards to them 
and caught them as they came, having reserved his 
great strength until now. Throwing his left arm 
over the lad he relieved Iberville of his burden, but 
called to him to hold on. The blood was flowing into 
Iberville’s eyes and he could do nothing else. But 
now came the fight between the priest and the mad 
waters. Once — twice — thrice they went beneath, but 
neither Iberville nor himself let go, and to the appre- 
hensive cries of their friends there succeeded calls of 
delight, for De Casson had seized the jutting bole 
and held on. It did not give, and they were safe for 
a moment. 

A quarter of a mile below there was smoother 
water, and soon the canoes were ashore, and Perrot, 
Sainte-IIelene, and others were running to the rescue. 


124 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


They arrived just in time. Ropes were let down, and 
the lad was drawn up insensible. Then came the 
priest, for Iberville, battered as he was, would not stir 
until the abbe had gone up — a stout strain on the 
rope. Fortunately there were clefts and fissures in 
the wall, which could be used in the ascent. De 
Casson had consented to go first, chiefly because he 
wished to gratify the still youthful pride of Iberville, 
who thought the soldier should see the priest into 
safety. Iberville himself came up slowly, for he was 
stiff and his limbs were shaking. His clothes were in 
tatters, and his fine face was like that of a warrior 
defaced by swords. 

But he refused to be carried, and his first care was 
for the boy, who had received no mortal injury. 

“ You have saved the boy, Pierre,” said the priest, 
in a low voice. 

“ Self- abasing always, dear abbe ; you saved us 
both. By heaven, but the king lost a great man in 
you ! ” 

“ Hush ! Mere brawn, Pierre ! ... By the bless- 
ing of God,” he added quickly. 


CHAPTER XI. 


WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLE. 

After this came varying days of hardship by land 
and water, and then another danger. One day they 
were crossing a great northern lake. The land was 
moist with the sweat of quick-springing verdure ; 
flocks of wild fowl rose at all points, and herds of 
caribou came drinking and feeding at the shore. The 
cries of herons, loons, and river-hens rose with strange 
distinctness, so delicate was the atmosphere, and the 
blue of the sky was exquisite. 

As they paddled slowly along this lake, keeping 
time to their song with the paddles, there suddenly 
grew out of the distance a great flotilla of canoes with 
tall prows, and behind them a range of islands which 
they had not before seen. The canoes were filled 
with men — Indians it would seem, by the tall feathers 
lifting from their heads. A moment before there had 
been nothing. The sudden appearance was even 
( 125 ) 


126 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


more startling than the strange canoe that crossed 
their track on Lake of the Winds. Iberville knew 
at once that it was a mirage, and the mystery of it 
did not last long even among the superstitious. But 
they knew now that somewhere in the north — pre- 
sumably not far away — was a large band of Indians, 
possibly hostile ; their own numbers fourscore. There 
was the chance that the Indians were following or 
intercepting them. Yet, since they had left the 
Ottawa River, they had seen no human being, save in 
that strange canoe on Lake of the Winds. To the 
east were the dreary wastes of Labrador, to the west 
were the desolate plains and hills, stretching to the 
valley of the Saskatchewan. 

Practically in command, Iberville advised watch- 
fulness and preparation for attack. Presently the 
mirage faded away as suddenly as it came. For days 
again they marched and voyaged on, seeing still no 
human being. At last they came to a lake, which 
they crossed in their canoes; then they entered the 
mouth of a small river, travelling northward. The 
river narrowed at a short distance from its mouth, 
and at a certain point the stream turned sharply. As 
the first canoe rounded the point it came full upon 


WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLE. 127 

half a hundred canoes blocking the river, filled by 
Indians with bended bows. They were a northern 
tribe that had never before seen the white man. Tall 
and stern, they were stout enemies, but they had no 
firearms, and, as could be seen, they were astonished 
at the look of the little band, which, at the command 
of De Troyes, who with Iberville was in the first boat, 
came steadily on. Suddenly brought face to face 
there was a pause, in which Iberville, who knew 
several Indian languages, called to them to make 
way. 

He was not understood, but he had pointed to the 
white standard of France flaring with the golden 
lilies ; and perhaps the drawn swords and the martial 
manner of the little band — who had donned gay trap- 
pings, it being Iberville’s birthday — conveyed in some 
way his meaning. The bows of the strangers stayed 
drawn, awaiting word from the leader. Hear the 
chief stood a man seven feet in height, a kind of 
bodyguard, who presently said something in his ear. 
He frowned, then seemed to debate, and his face 
cleared at last. Raising a spear, he saluted the French 
leaders, and then pointed towards the shore, where 
there was a space clear of trees, a kind of plateau. 


128 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


De Troyes and Iberville, thinking that a truce and 
parley were meant, returned the salute with their 
swords, and presently the canoes of both parties made 
over to the shore. It was a striking sight : the grave, 
watchful faces of the Indians who showed up grandly 
in the sun, their skin like fine rippling bronze as they 
moved; their tall feathers tossing, rude bracelets on 
their wrists, while some wore necklets of brass or cop- 
per. The chief was a stalwart savage with a cruel 
eye, but the most striking figure of all — either French 
or Indian — was that of the chief’s bodyguard. He 
was, indeed, the Goliath of the tribe, who, after the 
manner of other champions, was ever ready for chal- 
lenge in the name of his master. He was massively 
built, with long sinewy arms; but Iberville noticed 
that he was not powerful at the waist in proportion to 
the rest of his body, and that his neck was thinner 
than it should be. But these were items, for in all he 
was a fine piece of humanity, and Iberville said as 
much to De Casson, involuntarily stretching up as he 
did so. Tall and athletic himself, he never saw a man 
of calibre but he felt a wish to measure strength with 
him, not from vanity, but through the mere instincts 
of the warrior. Priest as he was, it is possible that 


WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLE. 


129 


De Casson shared the young man’s feeling, though 
chastening years had overcome impulses of youth. It 
was impossible for the French leaders to guess how 
this strange parley would end, and when many more 
Indians suddenly showed on the banks they saw that 
they might have tough work. 

“ What do you think of it, Iberville ? ” said De 
Troyes. 

“ A juggler’s puzzle— let us ask Perrot,” was the 
reply. 

Perrot confessed that he knew nothing of this 
tribe of Indians. The French leaders, who had never 
heard of Indians who would fight in the open, were, 
in spite of great opposing numbers, in warrior mood. 
Presently all the canoes were got to land, and without 
any demonstration the Indians filed out on the centre 
of the plateau, where were pitched a number of tents. 
The tents were in a circle, surrounding a clear space 
of ground, and the chief halted in the middle of this. 
He and his men had scarcely noticed the Frenchmen 
as they followed, seemingly trusting the honour of the 
invaders that they would not attack from behind. It 
was these Indians who had been seen in the mirage. 
They had followed the Frenchmen, had gone parallel 


130 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


with them for scores of miles, and had at last at this 
strategic point waylaid them. 

The conference was short. The French ranged in 
column on one side, the Indians on the other, and 
then the chief stepped forward. De Troyes did the 
same, and not far behind him were Iberville, the 
other officers, and Perrot. Behind the chief was the 
champion, then, a little distance away, on either side, 
the Indian councillors. 

The chief waved his hand proudly towards the 
armed warriors behind him, as if showing their 
strength, speaking meanwhile, and then, with ef- 
fective gesture, remarking the handful of French. 
Presently, pointing to his fighting man, he seemed 
to ask that the matter be settled by single com- 
bat. 

The French leaders understood : Goliath would 
have his David. The champion suddenly began a 
sing-song challenge, during which Iberville and his 
comrades conferred. The champion’s eyes ran up 
and down the line and lighted on the large form of 
De Casson, who calmly watched him. Iberville saw 
this look and could not help but laugh,* though the 
matter was serious. He pictured the good abbe fight- 


WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLE. 


131 


ing for the band. At this the champion began to 
beat his breast defiantly. 

Iberville threw off his coat, and motioned his 
friends back. Immediately there was protest. They 
had not known quite what to do, but Perrot had of- 
fered to fight the champion, and they, supposing it 
was to be a fight with weapons, had hastily agreed. 
It was clear, however, that it was to be a wrestle to 
the death. Iberville quelled all protests, and they 
stepped back. There was a final call from the cham- 
pion, and then he became silent. From the Indians 
rose one long cry of satisfaction, and then they too 
stilled, the chief fell back, and the two men stood 
alone in the centre. Iberville, whose face had become 
grave, went to De Casson and whispered to him. 
The abbe gave him his blessing, and then he turned 
and went back. He waved his hand to his brothers 
and his friends, — a gay Cavalier-like motion, — then 
took off all save his small clothes and stood out. 

Never was seen, perhaps, a stranger sight: a gen- 
tleman of France ranged against a savage wrestler, 
without weapons, stripped to the waist, to fight like a 
gladiator. But this was a new land, and Iberville 
could ever do what another of his name or rank could 


132 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


not. There was only one other man in Canada who 
could do the same — old Count Frontenac himself, 
who, dressed in all his Court finery, had danced a 
war-dance in the torchlight with Iroquois chiefs. 

Stripped, Iberville’s splendid proportions could be 
seen at advantage. He was not massively made, but 
from crown to heel there was perfect muscular pro- 
portion. His admirable training and his splendidly 
nourished body — cared for, as in those days only was 
the body cared for — promised much, though against 
so huge a champion. Then, too, Iberville in his boy- 
hood had wrestled with Indians and had learned their 
tricks. Added to this were methods learned abroad, 
which might prove useful now. Yet anyone looking 
at the two would have begged the younger man to 
withdraw. 

Never was battle shorter. Iberville, too proud to 
give his enemy one moment of athletic trifling, ran in 
on him. For a time they were locked straining ter- 
ribly, and then the neck of the champion went with a 
snap and he lay dead in the middle of the green. 

The Indians and the French were both so dumb- 
founded that for a moment no one stirred, and Iber- 
ville went back and quietly put on his clothes. But 


WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLE. 


133 


presently cries of rage and mourning came from the 
Indians, and weapons threatened. But the chief 
waved aggression down, and came forward to the 
dead man. He looked for a moment, and then as 
Iberville and De Troyes came near, he gazed at Iber- 
ville in wonder, and all at once reached out both 
hands to him. Iberville took them and shook them 
heartily. 

There was something uncanny in the sudden death 
of the champion, and Iberville’s achievement had con- 
quered these savages, who, after all, loved such deeds, 
though at the hand of an enemy. And now the 
whole scene was changed. The French courteously 
but firmly demanded homage, and got it, as the 
superior race can get it from the inferior, when events 
are, even distantly, in their favour: and here were 
martial display, a band of fearless men, weapons which 
the savages had never seen before, trumpets, and, 
most of all, a chief who was his own champion, and 
who had snapped the neck of their Goliath as one 
would break a tree-branch. 

From the moment Iberville and the chief shook 
hands they were friends, and after two days, when 
they parted company, there was no Indian among all 


134 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


this strange tribe but would have followed him any- 
where. As it was, he and De Troyes preferred to 
make the expedition with his handful of men, and so 
parted with the Indians, after having made gifts to 
the chief and his people. The most important of 
these presents was a musket, handled by the chief at 
first as though it were some deadly engine. The tribe 
had been greatly astonished at hearing a volley fired 
by the whole band at once, and at seeing caribou shot 
before their eyes ; but when the chief himself, after 
divers attempts, shot a caribou, they stood in proper 
awe. With mutual friendliness they parted. Two 
weeks later, after great trials, the band emerged on 
the shores of Hudson’s Bay almost without baggage 
and starving. 


CHAPTER XII. 


OUT OP THE HET. 

The last two hundred miles of their journey had 
been made under trying conditions. Accidents had 
befallen the canoes which carried the food, and the 
country through which they passed was almost devoid 
of game. During the last three days they had little 
or nothing to eat. When, therefore, at night they 
came suddenly upon the shores of Hudson’s Bay, and 
Fort Hayes lay silent before them, they were ready for 
desperate enterprises. The high stockade walls with 
stout bastions and small cannon looked formidable, 
yet there was no man of them but was better pleased 
that the odds were against him than with him. 
Though it was late spring, the night was cold, and 
all were wet, hungry, and chilled. 

Iberville’s first glance at the bay and the fort 
brought disappointment. No vessel lay in the har- 
bour, therefore it was probable Gering was not there. 

10 ( 135 ) 


136 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


But there were other forts, and this one must be 
taken meanwhile. The plans were quickly made. 
Iberville advised a double attack : an improvised bat- 
tering-ram at the great gate, and a party to climb the 
stockade wall at another quarter. This climbing 
party he would himself lead, accompanied by his 
brother Sainte-Helene, Perrot, and a handful of agile 
woodsmen. He had his choice, and his men were 
soon gathered round him. A tree was cut down in 
the woods some distance from the shore, shortened, 
and brought down, ready for its duty of battering- 
ram. 

The night was beautiful. There was a bright 
moon, and the sky by some strange trick of atmos- 
phere had taken on a green hue, against which every- 
thing stood out with singular distinctness. The air 
was placid, and through the stillness came the low 
humming wash of the water to the hard shore. The 
fort stood on an upland, looking in its solitariness 
like some lonely prison-house, where men went more 
to have done with the world than for punishment. 
Iberville w’as in that mood wherein men do stubborn 
deeds — when justice is more with them than mercy 
and selfishness than either. 


OUT OF THE NET. 137 

“ If you meet the man, Pierre ? ,r De Casson said 
before the party started. 

“ If we meet, may my mind be his, abbe ? ” Iber- 
ville laughed softly. “ But he is not here — there is 
no vessel, you see ! Still, there are more forts on the 
bay.” 

The band knelt down before they started. It was 
strange to hear in that lonely waste, a handful of 
men, bent on a deadly task, singing a low chant of 
penitence — a “ Kyrie eleison.” Afterwards came the 
benediction upon this buccaneering expedition, be- 
hind which was one man’s personal enmity, a mer- 
chant company’s cupidity, and a great nation’s lust 
of conquest. 

Iberville stole across the shore and up the hill 
with his handful of men. There was no sound from 
the fort ; all were asleep. No musket-shot welcomed 
them, no cannon roared on the night, there was no 
sentry. What should people on the outposts of the 
world need of sentries, so long as there were walls to 
keep out wild animals ! In a few moments Iberville 
and his companions were over the wall. Already the 
attack on the gate had begun, a passage was quickly 
made, and by the time Iberville had forced open the 


138 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


doors of the block-house, his followers making a wild 
hubbub as of a thousand men, De Troyes and his 
party were at his heels. Before the weak garrison 
could make resistance they were in the hands of their 
enemies, and soon were gathered in the yard — men, 
women, and children* 

Gering was not there. Iberville was told that he 
was at one of the other forts along the shore : either 
Fort Rupert on the east, a hundred and twenty miles 
away, or at Fort Albany, ninety miles to the north 
and west. Iberville determined to go to Fort Rupert, 
and with a few followers, embarking in canoes, assem- 
bled before it two nights after. A vessel was in the 
harbour, and his delight was keen. He divided his 
men, sending Perrot to take the fort, while himself 
with a small party moved to the attack of the vessel. 
Gering had delayed a day too long. He had intended 
leaving the day before, but the arrival of the governor 
of the Company had induced him to remain another 
day ; entertaining the governor at supper, and toast- 
ing him in some excellent wine got in Hispaniola. 
So palatable was it that all drank deeply, and other 
liquors found their way to the fo’castle. Thus in the 
dead of night there was no open eye on the Valiant. 


OUT OF THE NET. 


139 


The Frenchmen pushed out gently from the shore, 
paddled noiselessly over to the ship’s side, and clam- 
bered up. Iberville was the first to step on deck, and 
he was followed by Perrot and De Casson, who had, 
against Iberville’s will, insisted on coming. Five 
others came after. Already they could hear the other 
party at the gate of the fort, and the cries of the 
besiegers, now in the fortyard, came clearly to 
them. 

The watch of the Valiant waking suddenly, he 
sprang up and ran forward, making no outcry, dazed, 
but bent on fighting. He came, however, on the 
point of Perrot’s sabre and was cut down. Mean- 
while Iberville, hot for mischief, stamped upon the 
deck. Immediately a number of armed men came 
bundling up the hatchway. Among these appeared 
Gering and the governor, who thrust themselves for- 
ward with drawn swords and pistols. The first two 
men who appeared above the hatchway were promptly 
despatched, and Iberville’s sword was falling upon 
Gering, whom he did not recognise, when De Cas- 
son’s hand diverted the blow. It caught the shoulder 
of a man at Gering’s side. 

“ ’Tis Monsieur Gering ! ” said the priest. 


140 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


“ Stop ! Stop ! ” cried a voice behind these. “ I 
am the governor. We surrender.” 

There was nothing else to do : in spite of Gering’s 
show of defiance, though death was above him if he 
resisted. He was but half-way up. 

“ It is no use, Mr. Gering,” urged the governor ; 
“ they have us like sheep in a pen.” # 

“Very well,” said Gering suddenly, handing up 
his sword and stepping up himself. “ To whom do I 
surrender ? ” 

“ To an old acquaintance, monsieur,” said Iber- 
ville, coming near, “who will cherish you for the 
king of France.” 

“ Damnation ! ” cried Gering, and his eyes hun- 
gered for his sword again. 

“ You would not visit me, so I came to look for 
you ; though why, monsieur, you should hide up here 
in the porch of the world passeth knowledge.” 

“Monsieur is witty,” answered Gering stoutly; 
“ but if he will grant me my sword again and an hour 
alone with him, I shall ask no greater joy in life.” 

By this time the governor was on deck, and he 
interposed. 

“ I beg, sir,” he said to Iberville, “ you will see 


OUT OP THE NET. 


141 


there is no useless slaughter at yon fort ; for I guess 
that your men have their way with it.” 

“Shall my messenger, in your name, tell your 
people to give in ? ” 

“ Before God, no : I hope that they will fight 
while remains a chance. And be sure, sir, I should 
not have yielded here, but that I foresaw hopeless 
slaughter. Nor would I ask your favour there, hut 
that I know you are like to have bloody barbarians 
with you — and we have women and children ! ” 

“We have no Indians, we are all French,” an- 
swered Iberville quietly, and sent the messenger 
away. 

At that moment Perrot touched his arm, and 
pointed to a man whose shoulder was being bandaged. 
It was Radisson, who had caught Iberville’s sword 
when the abbe diverted it. 

“ By the mass ! ” said Iberville ; “ the gift of the 
saints.” 

He pricked Radisson with the point of his sword. 
“Well, monsieur renegade,” he said, “who holds the 
spring of the trap ? You have some prayers, I hope. 
And if there is no priest among your English, we’ll 
find you one before you swing next sundown.” 


142 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


Radisson threw up a malignant look, but said 
nothing ; and went on caring for his wound. 

“ At sunset, remember. You will see to it, Per- 
rot,” he added. 

“ Pardon me, monsieur,” said the governor. “ This 
is an officer of our company, duly surrendered.” 

“ Monsieur will know this man is a traitor, and 
that I have long-standing orders to kill him wherever 
found. — What has monsieur to say for him?” Iber- 
ville added, turning to Grering. 

“As an officer of the company,” was the reply, 
“ he has the rights of a prisoner of war.” 

“ Monsieur, we have met at the same table and I 
cannot think you should plead for a traitor. If you 
will say that the man ” 

But, here Radisson broke in. “ I want no one to 
speak for me. I hate you all ” — he spat at Iberville — 
“ and I will hang when I must, no sooner.” 

“ Not so badly said,” Iberville responded. “ ’Tis a 
pity, Radisson, you let the devil buy you.” 

“T’sh! The devil pays good coin, and I’m not 
hung yet,” he sullenly returned. 

By this time all the prisoners save Grering, the 
governor, and Radisson, were secured. Iberville or- 


OUT OF THE NET. 


143 


dered their disposition, and then, having set a guard, 
went down to deal with the governor for all the forts 
on the bay. Because the firing had ceased, he knew 
that the fort had been captured; and, indeed, word 
soon came to this effect. Iberville then gave orders 
that the prisoners from the fort should be brought on 
board next morning, to be carried on to Fort Albany, 
which was yet for attack. He was ill-content that 
a hand-to-hand fight with Gering had been prevented. 

He was now all courtesy to the governor and Ger- 
ing, and offering them their own wine, entertained 
them with the hardships of their travel up. He gave 
the governor assurance that the prisoners should be 
treated well and no property destroyed. Afterwards, 
with apologies, he saw them bestowed in a cabin, the 
door fastened, and a guard set. Presently he went on 
deck, and giving orders that Radisson should be kept 
safe on the after-deck, had rations served out; and 
after eating, he drew his cloak over him in the cabin 
and fell asleep. 

Near daybreak a man came swimming along the 
side of the ship to the small porthole of a cabin. He 
paused before it, took from his pocket a nail, and 
threw it within. There was no response, and he 


144 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


threw another, and again there was no response. 
Hearing the step of someone on the deck above, he 
drew in close to the side of the ship, diving under the 
water and lying still. A moment after he reappeared 
and moved — almost floated — on to another porthole. 
He had only one nail left ; he threw it in, and Ger- 
ing’s face appeared. 

“ Hush, monsieur ! ” Radisson called up. “ I have 
a key which may fit, and a bar of iron. If you get 
clear make for this side.” 

He spoke in a whisper. At that moment he again 
heard steps above, and dived as before. The watch 
looked over, having heard a slight noise ; but not 
knowing that Gering’s cabin was beneath, thought no 
harm. Presently Radisson came up again. Gering 
understood ; having heard the footsteps. 

“ I will make the attempt,” he said. “ Can you 
give me no other weapon ? ” 

“ I have only the one,” responded Radisson, not 
unselfish enough to give it up. His chief idea, after 
all, was to put Gering under obligation to him. 

“ I will do my best,” said Gering. 

Then he turned to the governor, who did not care 
to risk his life in the way of escape. 


OUT OF THE NET. 


145 


Gering tried the key, but it would not turn easily 
and he took it out again. Rubbing away the rust, he 
used tallow from the candle, and tried the lock again ; 
still it would not turn. He looked to the fastenings, 
but they were solid, and he feared noise ; he made one 
more attempt with the lock and suddenly it turned. 
He tried the handle, and the door opened. Then he 
bade good-bye to the governor and stepped out, al- 
most upon the guard, who was sound asleep. Look- 
ing round he saw Iberville’s cloak, which its owner 
had thrown off in his sleep. He stealthily picked it 
up, and then put Iberville’s cap on his head. Of 
nearly the same height, with these disguises, he might 
be able to pass for his captor. 

He threw the cloak over his shoulders, stole silently 
to the hatchway, and cautiously climbed up. Thrust- 
ing out his head he looked about him, and saw two or 
three figures bundled together at the mainmast — 
woodsmen who had celebrated victory too sincerely. 
He looked for the watch, but could not see him. 
Then he drew himself carefully up, and on his hands 
and knees passed to the starboard side and moved aft. 
Doing so he saw the watch start up from the capstan 
where he had been resting, and walk towards him. 


146 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


He did not quicken his pace. He trusted to his ruse 
— he would impersonate Iberville, possessed as he was 
of the hat and cloak. He moved to the bulwarks 
and leaned, against them, looking into the water. 
The sentry was deceived ; he knew the hat and cloak, 
and he was only too glad to have, as he thought, es- 
caped the challenge of having slept at his post; he 
began resolutely to pace the deck. Gering watched 
him closely, and moved deliberately to the stern. 
Doing so he suddenly came upon a body. He stopped 
and turned round, leaning against the bulwarks as 
before. This time the watch came within twenty feet 
of him, saluted and retired. 

Immediately Gering looked again at the body near 
him, and started back, for his feet were in a little 
pool. He understood : Radisson had escaped by kill- 
ing his guard. It was not possible that the crime and 
the escape could go long undetected : the watch might 
at any moment come the full length of the ship. Ger- 
ing flashed a glance at him again, — his back was to 
him still, — suddenly doffed the hat and cloak, vaulted 
lightly upon the bulwarks, caught the anchor-chain, 
slid down it into the water, and struck out softly along 
the side. Immediately Radisson was beside him. 


OUT OF THE NET. 


147 

“ Can you dive ? ” the Frenchman whispered. 
“ Can you swim under water? ” 

“ A little.” 

“ Then, with me quick ! ” 

The Frenchman dived and Gering followed him. 
The water was bitter cold, but when a man is saving 
his life endurance multiplies. 

The Fates were with them : no alarm came from 
the ship, and they reached the bank in safety. Here 
they were upon a now hostile shore without food, fire, 
shelter, and weapons : their situation was desperate 
even yet. Eadisson’s ingenuity was not quite enough, 
so Gering solved the problem : there were the French- 
men’s canoes ; they must be somewhere on the shore. 
Because Eadisson was a Frenchman, he might be able 
to impose upon the watch guarding the canoes. If 
not, they still had weapons of a kind — Eadisson a 
knife, and Gering the bar of iron. They moved 
swiftly along the shore, fearing an alarm meanwhile. 
If they could but get weapons and a canoe they would 
make their way either to Fort Albany, so warning it, 
or attempt the desperate journey to New York. 
Again fortune was with them. As it chanced, the 
watch, suffering from the cold night air, had gone 


148 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


into the bush to bring wood for firing. The two 
refugees stole near, and in the very first canoe found 
three muskets, and there were also bags filled with 
food. They hastily pushed out a canoe, got in, and 
were miles away before their escape was discovered. 

Radisson was for going south at once to New 
York, but Gering would not hear of it, and at the 
mouth of a musket Radisson obeyed. They reached 
Fort Albany and warned it. Having thus done his 
duty towards the Hudson’s Bay Company, and know- 
ing that surrender must come, and that in this case 
his last state would be worse than his first, Gering 
proceeded with Radisson — hourly more hateful to 
him, yet to be endured for what had happened — 
southward upon the trail the Frenchmen had taken 
northward. 

A couple of hours after Gering had thrown his hat 
and cloak into the blood of the coureur du bois , and slid 
down the anchor-chain, Iberville knew that his quarry 
was flown. The watch had thought that Iberville had 
gone below, and he again relaxed, but presently a 
little maggot of wonder got into his brain. He then 
went aft. Dawn was just breaking; the grey moist 
light shone with a naked coldness on land and water ; 


OUT OF THE NET. 


149 


wild-fowl came fluttering, voiceless, past ; night was 
still drenched in sleep. Suddenly he saw the dead 
body, and his boots dabbled in the wet ! 

In all that concerned the honour of the arms of 
France and the conquest of the three forts, Hayes, 
Rupert, and Albany, Iberville might be content, but 
he chafed at the escape of his enemies. 

“ I will not say it is better so, Pierre,” urged De 
Casson ; “ but you have done enough for the king. 
Let your own cause come later.” 

“ And it will come, abbe,” he answered, with a 
nonchalant anger. “ His account grows ; we must 
settle all one day. And Radisson shall swing or I am 
no soldier — so ! ” 


QfyocI) tt)c ©l)irb. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

“AS WATER UNTO WINE.” 

Three months afterwards George Gering was joy- 
fully preparing to take two voyages. Perhaps, in- 
deed, his keen taste for the one had much to do with 
his eagerness for the other — though most men find 
getting gold as cheerful as getting married. He had 
received a promise of marriage from Jessica, and he 
was also soon to start with William Phips for the 
Spaniards’ country. His return to New York with 
the news of the capture of the Hudson’s Bay posts 
brought consternation. . There was no angrier man 
in all America than Colonel Richard Nicholls ; there 
was perhaps no girl in all the world more agitated 
than Jessica, then a guest at Government House. 
Her father was there also, cheerfully awaiting her 

( 150 ) 


AS WATER UNTO WINE.’ 


151 


marriage with Gering, whom, since he had lost most 
traces of Puritanism, he liked. He had long sus- 
pected the girl’s interest in Iberville ; if he had 
known that two letters from him — unanswered — had 
been treasured, read, and re-read, he would have been 
anxious. That his daughter should marry a French- 
man — a filibustering seigneur, a Catholic, the enemy 
of the British colonies, whose fellow-countrymen in- 
cited the Indians to harass and to massacre — was not 
to be borne. 

Besides, the Honourable Hogarth Leveret, whose 
fame in the colony was now often in peril because of 
his Cavalier propensities, and whose losses had aged 
him, could not bear that himself should sink and 
carry his daughter with him. Jessica was the apple 
of his eye ; for her he would have borne all sorts of 
trials ; but he could not bear to see her called on to 
bear them. Like most people out of the heyday of 
their own youth, he imagined the way a maid’s fancy 
ought to go. 

If he had known how much his daughter’s promise 

to marry Gering would cost her, he would not have 

had it. But indeed she did not herself guess it. She 

had, with the dreamy pleasure of a young girl, dwelt 
11 


152 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


upon an event which might well hold her delighted 
memory: distance, difference of race, language, and 
life, all surrounded Iberville with an engaging fasci- 
nation. Besides, what woman could forget a man 
who gave her escape from a fate such as Bucklaw had 
prepared for her ? But she saw the hopelessness of 
the thing; everything was steadily acting in Ger- 
ing’s favour, and her father’s trouble decided her at 
last. 

When Gering arrived at. New York and told his 
story — to his credit with no dispraise of Iberville, 
rather as a soldier — she felt a pang greater than she 
had ever known. Like a good British maid, she was 
angry at the defeat of the British, she was indignant 
at her lover’s failure and proud of his brave escape, 
and she would have herself believe that she was angry 
at Iberville. But it was no use ; she was ill-content 
while her father and others called him buccaneer and 
filibuster, and she joyed that old William Drayton, 
who had ever spoken well of the young Frenchman, 
laughed at their insults, saying that he was as brave, 
comely, and fine-tempered a lad as he had ever met, 
and that the capture of the forts was genius — “ Gen- 
ius and pith, upon my soul ! ” he said stoutly, “ and 


“AS WATER UNTO WINE.” 153 

if he comes this way he shall have a right hearty wel- 
come, though he come to fight ! ” 

In the first excitement of Gering’s return, sorry 
for his sufferings and for his injured ambition, she 
had suddenly put her hands in his and had given her 
word to marry him. 

She was young, and a young girl does not always 
know which it is that moves her : the melancholy of 
the impossible, from which she sinks in a kind of 
peaceful despair upon the possible, or the flush of a 
deep desire : she acts in an atmosphere of the emo- 
tions, and cannot therefore be sure of herself. But 
when it was done there came reaction to Jessica. 
In the solitude of her own room — the room above the 
hallway, from which she had gone to be captured by 
Bucklaw — she had misgivings. If she had been 
asked whether she loved Iberville, she might have 
answered no. But he was a possible lover ; and every 
woman weighs the possible lover against the accepted 
one — often, at first, to fluttering apprehensions. In 
this brief reaction many a woman’s heart has been 
caught away. 

A few days after Gering’s arrival he was obliged to 
push on to Boston, there to meet Phips. He hoped 


154 THE trail of the sword. 

that Mr. Leveret and Jessica would accompany him, 
but Governor Nicholls would not hear of it just yet. 
Truth is, wherever the girl went she was light and 
cheerfulness, although her ways were quiet and her 
sprightliness was mostly in her looks. She was im- 
pulsive, but impulse was ruled by a reserve at once 
delicate and unembarrassed. She was as much beloved 
in the town of New York as in Boston. 

Two days after Gering left she was wandering in 
the garden, when the governor joined her. 

“ Well, well, my pretty councillor,” he said, — “ an 
hour to cheer an old man’s leisure ? ” 

“As many as you please,” she answered, daintily 
putting her hand in his arm. “ I am so very cheerful 
I need to shower the surplus.” There was a smile at 
her lips, but her eyes were misty. Large, brilliant, 
gentle, they had now also a bewildered look, which 
even the rough old soldier saw. He did not under- 
stand, but he drew the hand further within his arm and 
held it there, and for the instant he knew not what 
to say. The girl did not speak ; she only kept look- 
ing at him with a kind of inward smiling. Presently, 
as if he had suddenly lighted upon a piece of news for 
the difficulty, he said, “ Radisson has come.” 


AS WATER UNTO WINE. 1 


155 


“ Radisson ! ” she cried. 

“ Yes. You know ’twas he that helped George to 
escape ! ” 

“ Indeed, no ! ” she answered. “ Mr. Gering did 
not tell me.” She was perplexed, annoyed, yet she 
knew not why. 

Gering had not brought Radisson into New York 
— had indeed forbidden him to come there, or to Bos- 
ton, until word was given Jiim; for while he felt 
bound to let the scoundrel go with him to the Span- 
iards’ country, it was not to be forgotten that the fel- 
low had been with Bucklaw. But Radisson had no 
scruples when Gering was gone, though the proscrip- 
tion had never been withdrawn. 

“We will have to give him freedom, councillor, eh? 
even though we proclaimed him, you remember.” He 
laughed, and added : “ You would demand that, yea 
or nay.” 

“ Why should I ? ” she asked. 

“ Now, give me wisdom, all ye saints ! Why — why|? 
Faith, he helped your lover from the clutches of the 
French coxcomb ! ” 

“ Indeed,” she answered, “ such a villain helps but 
for absurd benefits. Mr. Gering might have stayed 


156 THE trail of the sword. 

with Monsieur Iberville in honour and safety at least. 
And why a coxcomb? You thought different once; 
and you cannot doubt his bravery. Enemy of our 
country though he be, I am surely bound to speak 
him well — he saved my life.” 

Anxious to please her he answered : “ Wise as 
ever, councillor. What an old bear am I ! When I 
called him coxcomb, ’twas as an Englishman hating a 
Frenchman, who gave our tongues to gall — a handful 
of posts gone, a ship passed to the spoiler, the gov- 
ernor of the Company a prisoner, and our young com- 
mander’s reputation at some trial! My temper was 
pardonable, eh, mistress?” 

The girl smiled, and added, “ There was good 
reason why Mr. Gering brought not Radisson here, 
and I should beware that man. A traitor is ever a 
traitor. He is French too, and as a good Englishman 
you should hate all Frenchmen, should you not ? ” 

“ Merciless witch ! Where got you that wit ? If I 
must, I kneel;” and he groaned in mock despair. 
“ And if Monsieur Iberville should come knocking 
at our door you would have me welcome him lov- 
ingly?” 

“Surely; there is peace, is there not? Has not 


“AS WATER UNTO WINE.” 157 

the king, because of his love for Louis, commanded all 
goodwill between us and Canada ? ” 

The governor laughed bitterly. “ Much pity that 
he has ! How can we live at peace with bucca- 
neers ! ” 

Their talk was interrupted here, but a few days 
later, in the same garden, Morris came to them. “ A 
ship enters harbour,” he said, “and its commander 
sends this letter.” 

An instant after the governor turned a troubled 
face on the girl, and said : “Your counsel of the other 
day is put to rapid test, Jessica. This comes from 
monsieur, who would pay his respects to me.” 

He handed the note to her. It said that Iberville 
had brought prisoners whom he was willing to ex- 
change for French prisoners in the governor’s hands. 

Entering New York harbour with a single vessel 
showed in a strong light Iberville’s bold, almost reck- 
less, courage. The humour of it was not lost on Jes- 
sica, though she turned pale, and the paper fluttered 
in her fingers. 

“ What will you do ? ” she said. 

« I will treat him as well as he will let me, sweet- 


heart.” 


158 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


Two hours afterwards, Iberville came up the street 
with Sainte-Hel&ne, De Casson, and Perrot — De 
Troyes had gone to Quebec — courteously accompanied 
by Morris and an officer of the New York Militia. 
There was no enmity shown the Frenchmen, for 
many remembered what had once made Iberville 
popular in New York. Indeed, Iberville, whose mem- 
ory was of the best, now and again accosted some 
English or Dutch resident, whose face he recalled. 

The governor was not at first cordial ; but Iber- 
ville’s cheerful soldierliness, his courtier spirit, and 
his treatment of the English prisoners, soon placed 
him on a footing near as friendly as that of years 
before. The governor praised his growing reputa- 
tion, and at last asked him to dine, saying that Mis- 
tress Leveret would no doubt be glad to meet her 
rescuer again. 

“ Still I doubt not,” said the governor, “ there will 
be embarrassment, for the lady can scarce forget that 
you had her lover prisoner. But these things are to 
be endured. Besides, you and Mr. Gering seem as 
easily enemies as other men are friends.” 

Iberville was amazed. So, Jessica and Gering 
were affianced. And the buckle she had sent him he 


AS WATER UNTO WINE. 5 


159 


wore in the folds of his lace ! How could he know 
what comes from a woman’s wavering sympathies, 
what from her inborn coquetry, and what from love 
itself ? He was merely a man with much to learn. 

He accepted dinner and said, “ As for Monsieur 
Gering, your Excellency, we are as easily enemies as 
he and Radisson are comrades in-arms.” 

“ Which is harshly put, monsieur. When a man 
is breaking prison he chooses any tool. You put a 
slight upon an honest gentleman.” 

“I fear that neither Mr. Gering nor myself are 
too generous with each other, your Excellency,” an- 
swered Iberville lightly. 

This frankness was pleasing, and soon the gov- 
ernor took Iberville into * the drawing-room, where 
Jessica was. She was standing by the great fireplace, 
and she did not move at first, but looked at Iberville 
in something of her old simple way. Then she of- 
fered him her hand with a quiet smile. 

“ I fear you are not glad to see me,” he said with 
a smile. “ You cannot have had good reports of me 
—no?” 

“ Yes, I am glad,” she answered gently. “ You 
know, monsieur, mine is a constant debt. You do 


160 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


not come to me, I take it, as the conqueror of Eng- 
lishmen.” 

“ I come to you,” he answered, “ as Pierre le 
Moyne of Iberville, who had once the honour to do 
you slight service. I have never tried to forget that, 
because by it I hoped I might be remembered — an 
accident of price to me.” 

She bowed and at first did not speak ; then Morris 
came to say that someone awaited the governor, and 
the two were left alone. 

* I have not forgotten,” she began softly, breaking 
a silence. 

“ You will think me bold, but I believe you will 
never forget,” was his meaning reply. 

“ Yes, you are bold,” she replied, with the demure 
smile which had charmed him long ago. Suddenly 
she looked up at him anxiously, and, “ Why did you 
go to Hudson’s Bay?” she asked. 

“ I would have gone ten times as far for the same 
cause,” he answered, and he looked boldly, earnestly 
into her eyes. 

She turned her head away. “ You have all your 
old recklessness,” she answered. Then her eyes sof- 
tened, and, “ All your old courage,” she added. 


AS WATER UNTO WINE.’ 


161 


“ I have all my old motive.” 

“ What is — your motive?” 

Does a woman never know how much such 
speeches cost? Did Jessica quite know when she 
asked the question, what her own motive was ; how 
much it had of delicate malice — unless there was 
behind it a simple sincerity ? She was inviting sor- 
row. A man like Iberville was not to be counted 
lightly ; for every word he sowed, he would reap a 
harvest of some kind. 

He came close to her, and looked as though he 
would read her through and through. “ Can you ask 
that question ? ” he said most seriously. “ If you ask 
it because from your soul you wish to know, good ! 
But if you ask it as a woman who would read a man’s 
heart, and then ” 

“ Oh, hush ! — hush ! ” she whispered. Her face 
became pale, and her eyes had a painful brightness. 
“You must not answer. I had no right to ask. Oh, 
monsieur ! ”'she added, “ I would have you always for 
my friend if I could, though you are the enemy of 
my country and of the man — I am to marry.” 

“ I am for my king,” he replied ; “ and I am ene- 
my of him who stands between you and me. For see, 


162 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


from the hour that I met you I knew that some day, 
even as now, I should tell you that — I love you — in- 
deed, Jessica, with all my heart.” 

“ Oh, have pity ! ” she pleaded. “ I cannot listen 
— I cannot.” 

“ You shall listen, for you have remembered me 
and have understood. Voild ! ” he added, hastily 
catching her silver buckle from his bosom. “ This 
that you sent me, look where I have kept it — on my 
heart ! ” 

She drew back from him, her face in her hands. 
Then suddenly she put them out as though to prevent 
him coming near her, and said — 

“ Oh, no — no ! You will spare me ; I am an affi- 
anced wife.” An appealing smile shone through her 
tears. “Oh, will you not go?” she begged. “Or, 
will you not stay and forget what you have said ? We 
are little more than strangers ; I scarcely know you ; 
I ” 

“ We are no strangers ! ” he broke in. “ How can 
that be when for years I have thought of you — you of 
me ? But I am content to wait, for my love shall win 
you yet. You ” 

She came to him and put her hands upon his arm. 


AS WATER UNTO WINE’” 


163 


“ You remember,” she said, with a touch of her old 
gaiety, and with an inimitable grace, “what good 
friends we were that first day we met ? Let us be 
the same now — for this time at least. Will you not 
grant me this for to-day?” 

“ And to-morrow ? ” he asked, inwardly determin- 
ing to stay in the port of New York and to carry 
her off as his wife ; but, unlike Bucklaw, with her 
consent. 

At that moment the governor returned, and Iber- 
ville’s question was never answered. Nor did he dine 
at Government House, for word came secretly that 
English ships were coming from Boston to capture 
him. He had therefore no other resource but to sail 
out and push on for Quebec. He would not peril the 
lives of his men merely to follow his will with Jessica. 

What might have occurred had he stayed is not 
easy to say— fortunes turn on strange trifles. The 
girl, under the influence of his masterful spirit and 
the rare charm of his manner, might have — as many 
another has — broken her troth. As it was, she wrote 
Iberville a letter and sent it by a courier, who never 
delivered it. By the same fatality, of the letters 
which he wrote her only one was received. This told 


164 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


her that when he returned from a certain cruise he 
would visit her again, for he was such an enemy to 
her country that he was keen to win what did it most 
honour. Gering had pressed for a marriage before he 
sailed for the Spaniards’ country, but she had said no, 
and when he urged it she had shown a sudden cold- 
ness. Therefore, bidding her good-bye, he had sailed 
away with Pliips, accompanied, much against his will, 
by Radisson. Bucklaw was not with them. He had 
set sail from England in a trading schooner, and was 
to join Phips at Port de la Planta. Gering did not 
know that Bucklaw had share in the expedition, nor 
did Bucklaw guess the like of Gering. 

Within two weeks of the time that Phips in his 
Bridgivater Merchant , manned by a full crew, twenty 
fighting men, and twelve guns, with Gering in com- 
mand of the Swallow , a smaller ship, got away to the 
south, Iberville also sailed in the same direction. He 
had found awaiting him, on his return to Quebec, a 
priest bearing messages and a chart from another 
priest who had died in the Spaniards’ country. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


IN WHICH THE HUNTERS ARE OUT. 

Iberville had a good ship. The Maid of Prov- 
ence carried a handful of guns and a small but 
carefully chosen crew, together with Sainte-Hel&ne, 
Perrot, and the lad Maurice Joval, who had conceived 
for Iberville friendship nigh to adoration. Those 
were days when the young were encouraged to adven- 
ture, and Iberville had no compunction in giving the 
boy this further taste of daring. 

Iberville, thorough sailor as he was, had chosen for 
his captain one who had sailed the Spanish main. 
He had commanded on merchant ships which had 
been suddenly turned into men-of-war, and was suited 
to the present enterprise : taciturn, harsh of voice, 
singularly impatient, but a perfect seaman, and as 
brave as could be. He had come to Quebec late the 
previous autumn with the remnants of a ship which, 
rotten when she left the port of Havre, had sprung 

( 165 ) 


166 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


aleak in mid-ocean, had met a storm, lost her main- 
mast, and by the time she reached the St. Lawrence 
had scarce a stick standing. She was still at Quebec, 
tied up in the bay of St. Charles, from which she 
would probably go out no more. Her captain — Jean 
Berigord — had chafed on the bit in the little Hotel 
Colbert, making himself more feared than liked, till 
one day he was taken to Iberville by Perrot. 

A bargain was soon struck. The nature of the ex- 
pedition was not known in Quebec, for the sailors were 
not engaged till the eve of starting, and Perrot’s men 
were ready at his bidding without why or wherefore. 

Indeed, when the Maid of Provence left the island of 

% 

Orleans, her nose seawards, one fine July morning, 
the only persons in Quebec that knew her destination 
were the priest who had brought Iberville the chart of 
the river, with its accurate location of the sunken 
galleon, Iberville’s brothers, and Count Frontenac 
himself — returned again as governor. 

“ See, Monsieur Iberville,” said the governor, as 
with a fine show of compliment, in full martial dress, 
with his officers in gold lace, perukes, powder, swords, 
and ribbons, he bade Iberville good-bye — “See, my 
dear captain, that you find the treasure, or make these 


IN WHICH THE HUNTERS ARE OUT. 107 

greedy English pay dear for it. They have a long 
start, but that is nothing, with a ship under you that 
can show its heels to any craft. I care not so much 
about the treasure, but I pray you humble those dull 
Puritans, who turn buccaneers in the name of the 
Lord.” 

Iberville made a gallant reply, and, with Sainte- 
Helene, received a hearty farewell from the old 
soldier, who, now over seventy years of age, was as 
full of spirit as when he distinguished himself at 
Arras fifty years before. In Iberville he saw his own 
youth renewed, and he foretold the high part he would 
yet play in the fortunes of New France. Iberville 
had got to the door and was bowing himself out 
when, with a quick gesture, Frontenac stopped him, 
stepped quickly forward, and clasping his shoulders 
kissed him on each cheek, and said in a deep kind 
voice, “ I know, mon enfant, what lies behind this. 
A man pays the price one time or another ; he draws 
his sword for his mistress and his king ; both forget, 
but one’s country remains — remains.” 

Iberville said nothing, but with an admiring 
glance into the aged, iron face, stooped and kissed 

Frontenac’s hand and withdrew silently. Frontenac, 
12 


168 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


proud, impatient, tyrannical, was the one man in New 
France who had a powerful idea of the future of the 
country, and who loved her and his king by the law 
of a loyal nature. Like Wolsey, he had found his 
king ungrateful, and had stood almost alone in 
Canada among his enemies, as at Versailles among 
his traducers — imperious, unyielding and yet forgiving. 
Married too at an early age, his young wife, caring lit- 
tle for the duties of maternity and more eager to serve 
her own ambitions than his, left him that she might 
share the fortunes of Mademoiselle de Montpensier. 

Iberville had mastered the chart before he sailed, 
and when they were well on their way he disclosed to 
the captain the object of their voyage. Berigord lis- 
tened to all he had to say, and at first did no more 
than blow tobacco smoke hard before him. “ Let me 
see the chart,” he said at last, and scrutinising it care- 
fully, added : “ Yes, yes, ’tis right enough. I’ve been 
in the port and up the river. But neither we nor the 
English ’ll get a handful of gold or silver thereabouts. 
’Tis throwing good money after none at all.” 

“ The money is mine, my captain,” said Iberville 
good-humouredly. “ There will be sport, and I ask 
but that you give me every chance you can.” 


IN WHICH THE HUNTERS ARE OUT. 169 


“ Look then, monsieur,” replied the smileless man, 
“ I’ll run your ship for all she holds from here to hell, 
if you twist your finger. She’s as good a craft as ever 
I spoke, and I’ll swear her for any weather. The 
fighting and the gold as you and the devil agree ! ” 

Iberville wished nothing better — a captain con- 
cerned only with his own duties. Berigord gathered 
the crew and the divers on deck, and in half a dozen 
words told them the object of the expedition, and was 
followed by Iberville. Some of the men had been 
with him to Hudson’s Bay, and they wished nothing 
better than fighting the English, and all were keen 
with the lust of gold — even though it were for an- 
other. As it was, Iberville promised them all a share 
of what was got. 

On the twentieth day after leaving Quebec they 
sighted islands, and simultaneously they saw five ships 
bearing away towards them. Iberville was apprehen- 
sive that a fleet of the kind could only be hostile, for 
merchant ships would hardly sail together so, and it 
was not possible that they were French. There re- 
mained the probability that they were Spanish or 
English ships. He had no intention of running 
away, but at the same time he had no wish to fight 


170 THE trail of the sword. 

before he reached Port de la Planta and had had his 
hour with Gering and Phips and the lost treasure. 
Besides, five ships was a large undertaking, which 
only a madman would willingly engage. However, 
he kept steadily on his course. But there was one 
chance of avoiding a battle without running away — 
the glass had been falling all night and morning. 
Berigord, when questioned, grimly replied that there 
was to be trouble, but whether with the fleet or the 
elements was not clear, and Iberville did not ask. 

He got his reply effectively and duly however. A 
wind suddenly sprang up from the north-west, fol- 
lowed by a breaking cross sea. It as suddenly swelled 
to a hurricane, so that if Berigord had not been for- 
tunate as to his crew and had not been so fine a sailor, 
the Maid of Provence might have fared badly, for 
he kept all sail on as long as he dare, and took it in 
none too soon. But so thoroughly did he know the 
craft and trust his men that she did what he wanted ; 
and though she was tossed and hammered by the sea 
till it seemed that she must, with every next wave, go 
down, she rode into safety at last, five hundred miles 
out of their course. 

The storm had saved them from the hostile fleet, 


IN WHICH THE HUNTERS ARE OUT. 171 

which had fared ill. They were first scattered, then 
two of them went down, and another was so disabled 
that she had to be turned back to the port they had 
left, and the remaining two were separated, so that 
their only course was to return to port also. As the 
storm came up they had got within fighting distance 
of the Maid of Provence , and had opened ineffectual 
fire, which she — occupied with the impact of the 
storm — did not return. Escaped the dangers of the 
storm, she sheered into her course again, and ran 
away to the south-west, until Hispaniola came in 
sight. 


CHAPTER XV. 


IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW. 

The Bridgwater Merchant and the Swalloiu 
made the voyage down with no set-backs, having 
fair weather and a sweet wind on their quarter all 
the way, to the wild corner of an island, where a 
great mountain stands sentinel and a bay washes 
upon a curving shore and up the river De la Planta. 
There were no vessels in the harbour and there 
was only a small settlement on the shore, and as 
they came to anchor well away from the gridiron of 
reefs known as the Boilers, the prospect was hand- 
some : the long wash of the waves, the curling white 
of the breakers, and the rainbow-coloured water. The 
shore was luxuriant, and the sun shone intemperately 
on the sea and the land, covering all with a fine beau- 
tiful haze, like the most exquisite powder sifted 
through the air. All on board the Bridgwater 

Merchant and the Swallow were in hearty spirits. 

( 172 ) 


IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW. 


173 

There had been some sickness, but the general health 
of the expedition was excellent. 

It was not till the day they started from Boston 
that Phips told Gering he expected to meet someone 
at the port, who had gone to prepare the way, to warn 
them by fires in case of danger, and to allay any op- 
position among the natives — if there were any. But 
he had not told him who the herald was. 

Truth is, Phips was anxious that Gering should 
have no chance of objecting to the scoundrel who had, 
years before, tried to kidnap his now affianced wife — 
who had escaped a deserved death on the gallows. It 
was a rude age, and men of Phips’ quality, with no 
particular niceness as to women, or horror as to 
mutiny when it was twenty years old, compromised 
with their conscience for expediency and gain. More- 
over, in his humorous way, Bucklaw, during his con- 
nection with Phips in England, had made himself 
agreeable and resourceful. Phips himself had sprung 
from the lower orders, — the son of a small farmer, — 
and even in future days, when he rose to a high 
position in the colonies, gaining knighthood and 
other honours, he had the manners and speech of “ a 
man of the people.” Bucklaw understood men : he 


174 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


knew that his only game was that of bluntness. This 
was why he boarded Phips in Cheapside without sub- 
terfuge or disguise. 

Nor had Phips told Bucklaw of Gering’s coming ; 
so that when the Bridgwater Merchant and the 
Swalloiv entered Port de la Planta, Bucklaw him- 
self, as he bore out in a small sailboat, did not guess 
that he was likely to meet a desperate enemy. He 
had waited patiently, and had reckoned almost to a 
day when Phips would arrive. He was alongside be- 
fore Phips had called anchor. His cheerful counte- 
nance came up between the frowning guns, his hook- 
hand ran over the rail, and in a moment he was on 
deck facing — Radisson. 

He was unprepared, for the meeting, but he had 
taken too many chances in his lifetime to show aston- 
ishment. He and Radisson had fought and parted ; 
they had been in ugly business together, and they 
were likely to be, now that they had met, in ugly 
business again. 

Bucklaw’s tiger ran up to stroke his chin with the 
old grotesque gesture. “ Ha ! ” he said saucily, “ cats 
and devils have nine lives.” 

There was the same sparkle in the eye as of old, 


IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW. 175 

the same buoyant voice. For himself, he had no 
particular quarrel with Radisson ; the more so because 
he saw a hang-dog sulkiness in Radisson’s eye. It 
was ever his cue when others were angered to be cool. 
The worst of his crimes had been performed with 
an air of humorous cynicism. He could have great 
admiration for an enemy such as Iberville; and he 
was not a man to fight needlessly. He had a firm 
belief that he had been intended for a high po- 
sition — a great admiral, or general, or a notable 
buccaneer. 

Before Radisson had a chance to reply, came 
Phips, who could not help but show satisfaction at 
Bucklaw’s presence ; and in a moment they were on 
their way together to the cabin, followed by the eyes 
of the enraged Radisson. Phips disliked Radisson ; 
the sinister Frenchman, with his evil history, was im- 
possible to the open, bluff captain. He had been 
placed upon Phips’ vessel because he knew the en- 
trance to the harbour ; but try as he would for a kind 
of comradeship he failed : he had an ugly vanity and 
a bad heart. There was only one decent thing which 
still clung to him in rags and tatters — the fact that 
he was a Frenchman. He had made himself hated 


176 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


on the ship — having none of the cunning tact of 
Bucklaw. As Phips and Bucklaw went below, a sud- 
den devilry entered into him. He was ripe for 
quarrel, eager for battle. His two black eyes were 
like burning beads, his jaws twitched. If Bucklaw 
had but met him without this rough, bloodless irony, 
he might have thrown himself with ardour into the 
work of the expedition ; but he stood alone, and 
hatred and war rioted in him. 

Below in the cabin Phips and Bucklaw were deep 
in the chart of the harbour and the river. The plan 
of action was decided upon. A canoe was to be built 
out of a cotton-tree large enough to carry eight or ten 
oars. This and the tender, with men and clivers, were 
to go in search of the wreck under the command of 
Bucklaw and the captain of the Swallow, whose name 
Phips did not mention. Phips himself was to remain 
on the Bridgwater Merchant , the Swallow lying near 
with a goodly number of men to meet any possible 
attack from the sea. When all was planned, Phips 
told Bucklaw who was 'the commander of the Swal- 
low. For a moment the fellow’s coolness was shaken ; 
the sparkle died out of his eye and he shot up a fur- 
tive look at Phips, but he caught a grim smile on the 


IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW. 


177 


face of the sturdy sailor. He knew at once there was 
no treachery meant, and he guessed that Phips ex- 
pected no crisis. It was ever his w T ay to act with 
promptness ; being never so resourceful as wdien his 
position was most critical : he was in the power of 
Gering and Phips, and he knew it, hut he knew also 
that his game must be a bold one. 

“ Bygones are bygones, captain,” he said ; “ and 
what’s done can’t be helped, and as it was no harm 
came anyway.” 

“ Bygones are bygones,” replied the other, “ and 
let’s hope that Mr. Gering will say so too.” 

“ Haven’t you told him, sir? ” 

“ Never a word — but I’ll send for him now T , and 
bygones let it be.” 

Bucklaw nodded, and drummed the table with his 
tiger. He guessed why Phips had not told Gering, 
and he foresaw trouble. He trusted, however, to the 
time that had passed since the kidnapping, and on 
Gering’s hunger for treasure. Phips had compro- 
mised, and why not he ? But if Gering was bent on 
trouble, why, there was the last resource of the peace- 
lover! He tapped the rapier at his side. He ever 
held that he was peaceful, and it is recorded that at 


178 THE trail of the sword. 

the death of an agitated victim, he begged him to 
“ sit still and not fidget.” 

He laid n6 plans as to what he should do when 
Gering came. Like the true gamester, he waited to 
see how he should be jfiaced and then to draw upon 
his resources. He was puzzled about Radisson, but 
Radisson could wait; he was so much the superior of 
the coarser villain that he gave him little thought. 
As he waited he thought more about the treasure at 
hand than of either — or all — his enemies. 

He did not stir, but kept drumming till he knew 
that Gering was aboard, and heard his footsteps, with 
the captain’s, coming. He showed no excitement, 
though he knew a crisis was at hand. A cool, healthy 
sweat stood out on his forehead, cheeks, and lips, and 
his blue eyes sparkled clearly and coldly. He rose as 
the two men appeared. 

Phips had not even told his lieutenant. But Ger- 
ing knew Bucklaw at the first glance, and his eyes 
flashed and a hand went to his sword. 

“ Captain Phips,” he said angrily, “ you know who 
this man is ? ” 

“ He is the guide to our treasure-house, Mr. Gering.” 

“ His name is Bucklaw — a mutineer condemned 


IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW. 


179 

to death, the villain who tried to kidnap Mistress 
Leveret.” 

It was Bucklaw that replied. “ Right — right you 
are, Mr. Gering. I’m Edward Bucklaw, mutineer, or 
what else you please. But that’s ancient — ancient. 
I’m sinner no more. You and Monsieur Iberville 
saved the maid — I meant no harm to her ; ’twas but 
for ransom. I am atoning now — to make your for- 
tune, give you glory. Shall bygones be bygones, Mr. 
Gering ? What say you ? ” 

Bucklaw stood still at the head of the table. But 
he was very watchful. What the end might have 
been it is hard to tell, but a thing occurred which 
took the affair out of Gering’s hands. 

A shadow darkened the companion-way, and 
Radisson came quickly down. His face was sinister, 
and his jaws worked like an animal’s. Coming to 
the table, he stood between Gering and Bucklaw, and 
he looked from one to the other. Bucklaw was cool, 
Gering very quiet, and he misinterpreted. 

“ You are great friends, eh, all together ? ” he said 
viciously. “ All together you will get the gold. It is 
no matter what one English do, the other absolve for 
gold. A buccaneer, a stealer of women — no, it is 


180 THE trail of the sword. 

no matter! All English — all together! But I am 
French — I am the dirt — I am for the scuppers. Bah ! 
I will have the same as Bucklaw — you see ? ” 

“You will have the irons, my friend!” Phips 
roared, and blew his whistle. 

A knife flashed in the air, and Bucklaw’s pistol 
was out at the same instant. The knife caught Buck- 
law in the throat and he staggered against the table 
like a stuck pig, the bullet hit Radisson in the chest 
and he fell back against the wall, his pistol dropping 
from his hand. Bucklaw, bleeding heavily, lurched 
forward, pulled himself together, and, stooping, emp- 
tied his pistol into the moaning Radisson. Then he 
sank on his knees, snatched the dropped pistol, and 
fired again into Radisson’s belly ; after which, with 
a last effort, he plunged his own dagger into the 
throat of the dying man, and, w T ith his fingers still on 
the handle, fell with a gurgling laugh across the 
Frenchman’s body. 

Radisson recovered for an instant. He gave a 
hollow cry, drew the knife from his own throat, and, 
with a wild, shambling motion, struck at the motion- 
less Bucklaw, pinning an arm to the ground. Then 
he muttered an oath and fell back dead. 


IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW. 


181 


The tournament of blood was over. So swift had 
it been there was no chance to interfere. Besides, 
Gering was not inclined to save the life of either; 
while Phips, who now knew the chart, as he thought, 
as well as Bucklaw, was not concerned, though he 
liked the mutineer. 

For a moment they both looked at the shambles 
without speaking. Sailors for whom Phips had 
whistled crowded the cabin. 

“A damned bad start, Mr. Gering!” Phips said, 
as he moved towards the bodies. 

“ For them, yes ; but they might have given us 
a bad ending.” 

“ For the Frenchman, he’s got less than was brew- 
ing for him, but Bucklaw was a humorous dog.” 

As he said this he stooped to Bucklaw and 
turned him over, calling to the sailors to clean the 
red trough and bring the dead men on deck, but 
presently he cried, “ By the devil’s tail, the fellow 
lives! Here, a hand quick, you lubbers, and fetch 
the surgeon ! ” 

Bucklaw 'was not dead. He had got two ugly 
wounds and was bleeding heavily, but his heart still 
beat. Radisson’s body was carried on deck, and 


182 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


within half an hour was dropped into the deep. The 
surgeon, however, would not permit Bucklaw to be 
removed until he had been cared for, and so Phips 
and Gering went on deck and made preparations for 
the treasure-hunt. A canoe was hollowed out by a 
dozen men in a few hours, the tender was got ready, 
the men and divers told off, and Gering took com- 
mand of the searching party, while Phips remained 
on the ship. 

They soon had everything ready for a start in the 
morning. Word was brought that Bucklaw still 
lived, but was in a high fever, and that the chances 
were all against him ; and Phips sent cordials and 
wines from his own stores, and asked that news be 
brought to him of any change. 

Early in the morning Gering, after having received 
instructions from Phips, so far as he knew (for Buck- 
law had not told all that was necessary), departed 
for the river. The canoe and tender went up the 
stream a distance, and began to work down from the 
farthest point indicated in the chart. Gering con- 
tinued in the river nearly all day, and at night 
camped on the shore. The second day brought no 
better luck, nor yet the third : the divers had seen no 


IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW. 


183 


vestige of a wreck, nor any sign of treasure — nothing 
except four skeletons in a heap, tied together with a 
chain, where the water was deepest. These were the 
dead priests, for whom Bucklaw could account. The 
water was calm, the tide rising and falling gently, 
and when they arrived among what was called the 
Shallows, they could see plainly to the bottom. They 
passed over the Boilers, a reef of shoals, and here 
they searched diligently, but to no purpose; the 
divers went down frequently, but could find nothing. 
The handful of natives in the port came out and 
looked on apathetically; one or two Spaniards also 
came, but they shrugged their shoulders and pitied 
the foolish adventurers. Gering had the power of 
inspiring his men, and Phips was a martinet and was 
therefore obeyed ; but the lifeless days and unre- 
warded labour worked on the men, and at last the 
divers shirked their task. 

Meanwhile, Bucklaw was fighting hard for life. 

As time passed, the flush of expectancy waned; 
the heat was great, the waiting seemed endless. Ad- 
venture was needed for the spirits of the men, and of 
this now there was nothing. Morning after morning 

the sun rose in a moist, heavy atmosphere ; day after 
13 


184 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


day went in a quest which became dreary, and night 
after night settled upon discontent. Then came 
threats. But this was chiefly upon the Bridgivater 
Merchant. Phips had picked up his sailors in Eng- 
lish ports, and nearly all of them were brutal adven- 
turers. They were men used to desperate enterprises, 
and they had flocked to him because they smelled 
excitement and booty. Of ordinary merchant sea- 
men there were only a few. When the Duke of 
Albemarle had come aboard at Plymouth before they 
set sail, he had shrugged his shoulders at the motley 
crew. To his hint Phips had only replied with a 
laugh : these harum-scarum scamps were more to 
his mind than ordinary seamen. At heart he him- 
self was half-barbarian. It is possible he felt there 
might some time be a tug-of-war on board, but he 
did not borrow trouble. Bucklaw had endorsed 
every man that he had chosen ; indeed, Phips knew 
that many of them were old friends of Bucklaw. 
Again, of this he had no fear ; Bucklaw was a man 
of desperate deeds, but he knew that in himself 
Bucklaw had a master. Besides, he would pick up 
in Boston a dozen men upon whom he could depend ; 
and cowardice had no place in him. Again, the 


IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW. 185 

Swallozo , commanded by Gering, was fitted out with 
New England seamen; and on these dependence 
could be put. 

Therefore, when there came rumblings of mutiny 
on the Bridgwater Merchant , there was faithful, 
if gloomy, obedience, on the Swallow. Had there 
been plenty of work to do, had they been at sea 
instead of at anchor, the nervousness would have 
been small ; but idleness begot irritation, and irri- 
tation mutiny. Or had Bucklaw been on deck, in- 
stead of in the surgeon’s cabin playing a hard game 
with death, matters might not have gone so far as 
they did ; for he would have had immediate personal 
influence, repressive of revolt. As it was, Phips had 
to work the thing out according to his own lights. 
One afternoon, when Gering was away with the 
canoes on the long search, the crisis came. It was a 
day when life seemed to stand still ; a creamy haze 
ingrained with delicate blue had settled on land and 
sea; the long white rollers slowly travelled over the 
Boilers, and the sea rocked like a great cradle. In- 
definiteness of thought, of time, of event, seemed 
over all ; on board the two ships life swung idly as 
a hammock ; but only so in appearance. 


186 THE trail of the sword. 

Phips was leaning against the deck-house, watch- 
ing through his glass the search-canoes. Presently 
he turned and walked aft. As he did so the surgeon 
and the chief mate came running towards him. They 
had not time to explain, for came streaming upon 
deck a crowd of mutineers. Phips did not hesitate 
an instant; he had no fear — he was swelling with 
anger. 

“Why now, you damned dogs!” he blurted out, 
“what mean you by this? What’s all this show of 
cutlasses ? ” 

The ringleader stepped forward. “ We’re sick of 
doing nothing,” he answered. “We’ve come on a 
wild-goose chase. There’s no treasure here. W r e 
mean you no harm ; we want not the ship out of your 
hands.” 

“ Then,” cried Phips, “ in the name of all the 
devils, what want you ? ” 

“ Here’s as we think : there’s nothing to be got 
out of this hunt, but there’s treasure on the high seas 
all the same. Here’s our offer: keep command of 
your ship — and run up the black flag ! ” 

Phips’ arm shot out and dropped the man to the 
ground. 


IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAW. 187 

“ That’s it, you filthy rogues ? ” he roared. “ Me 
to turn pirate, eh? You’d set to weaving ropes for 
the necks of every one of us — blood of my soul.” 

He seemed not to know that cutlasses were threat- 
ening him, not to be aware that the man at his feet, 
clutching his weapon, was mad with rage. 

“ Now look,” he said, in a big loud voice, “ I know 
that treasure is here, and I know we’ll find it : if not 
now, when we get Bucklaw on his feet.” 

“ Ay ! Bucklaw ! Bucklaw ! ” ran through the 
throng. 

“Well, then, Bucklaw, as you say! How here’s 
what I’ll do, scoundrels though you be. Let me hear 
no more of this foolery, stick to me till the treasure’s 
found, — for God take my soul if I leave this bay till I 
have found it ! — and you shall have good share of 
booty.” 

He had grasped the situation with such courage 
that the mutineers hesitated. He saw his advantage 
and followed it up, asking for three of their number 
to confer with him as to a bond upon his proposal. 
After a time the mutineers consented, the bond was 
agreed to, and the search went on. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


IN THE TREASURE HOUSE. 

The canoes and tender kept husking up down 
among the Shallows, finding nothing. At last one 
morning they pushed out from the side of the Bridg- 
water Merchant , more limp than ever. The stroke of 
the oars was listless, but a Boston sailor of a merry 
sort came to a cheery song — 

“ I knows a town, an’ it’s a fine town, 

And many a brig goes sailin’ to its quay; 

I knows an inn, an’ it’s a fine inn, 

An’ a lass that’s fair to see. 

I knows a town, an’ it’s a fine town; 

I knows an inn, an’ it’s a fine inn — 

But 0 my lass! an’ 0 the gay gown, 

Which I have seen my pretty in ! 

“I knows a port, an’ it’s a good port, 

An’ many a brig is ridin’ easy there; 

I knows a home, an’ it’s a good home, 

An’ a lass that’s sweet an’ fair. 

( 188 ) 


IN THE TREASURE HOUSE. 


189 


I knows a port, an’ it’s a good port, 

1 knows a home, an’ it’s a good home — 

But 0 the pretty that is my sort, 

That’s wearyin’ till I come ! 

“I knows a day, an’ it’s a fine day, 

The day a sailor man comes back to town. 

I knows a tide, an’ it’s a good tide, 

The tide that gets you quick to anchors down. 

I knows a day, an’ it’s a fine day, 

I knows a tide, an’ it’s a good tide — 

And God help the lubber, 1 say, 

That’s stole the sailor man’s bride ! ” 

The song had its way with them and they joined 
in, and lay to their oars with almost too much good- 
will. Gering, his arms upon the side of the canoe, 
was looking into the water idly. It was clear far 
down, and presently he saw what seemed a feather 
growing out of the side of a rock. It struck him as 
strange, and he gave word to back water. They were 
just outside the Boilers in deep water. Drawing back 
carefully, he saw the feather again, and ordered one 
of the divers to go down. 

They could see the man descend and gather the 
feather, then he plunged deeper still and they lost 
sight of him. But soon he came up rapidly, and was 
quickly inside the boat, to tell Gering that he had 


190 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


seen several great guns. At this the crew peered over 
the boat-side eagerly. Gering’s heart beat hard. He 
knew what it was to rouse wild hope and then to see 
despair follow, but he kept an outward calm and told 
the diver to go down again. Time seemed to stretch 
to hours before they saw the man returning with 
something in his arm. He handed up his prize, and 
behold it was a pig of silver ! 

The treasure was found ; and there went up a great 
cheer. All was activity, for, apart from the delight of 
discovery, Phips had promised a share to every man. 
The place was instantly buoyed, and they hastened 
back to the port with the grateful tidings to Phips. 
With his glass he saw them coming, and by their 
hard rowing he guessed that they had news. When 
they came within hail they cheered, and when they 
saw the silver the air rang with shouts. 

As Gering stepped on board with the silver, Cap- 
tain Phips ran forward, clasped it in both hands, and 
cried, “ We are all made, thanks be to God ! ” 

Then all hands were ordered on board, and be- 
cause the treasure lay in a safe anchorage they got 
the ships away towards it. 

Bucklaw, in the surgeon’s cabin, was called out 


IN THE TREASURE HOUSE. 191 

of delirium by the noise. He was worn almost to a 
skeleton, his eyes were big and staring, his face had 
the paleness of death. The return to consciousness 
was sudden — perhaps nothing else could have called 
him back. He wriggled out of bed and, supporting 
himself against the wall, made his way to the door, 
and crawled away, mumbling to himself as he went. 

A few minutes afterwards Phips and Gering were 
talking in the cabin. Phips was weighing the silver 
up and down in his hands. 

“ At least three hundred good guineas here ! ” he 
said. 

There was a shuffling behind them, and as Phips 
turned, a figure lunged on him, clutched the silver 
and hugged it ; it was Bucklaw. 

“ Mine ! mine ! ” he called in a hoarse voice, with 
great gluttonous eyes. “ All mine ! ” he cried again. 
Then he gasped and came to the ground in a heap, 
with the silver hugged in his arms. All at once he 
caught at his throat ; the bandage of his wound fell 
away and there was a rush of blood over the silver. 
With a wild laugh he plunged face forward on the 
metal — and the blood of the dead Bucklaw conse- 
crated the first fruits of the treasure. 


192 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


As the vessel rode up the harbour the body was 
dropped into the deep. 

“Worse men — worse men, sir, bide with the 
king,” said Phips to Gering. “ A merry villain, 
Bucklaw ! ” 

The ship came to anchor at the buoys, and no 
time was lost. Divers were sent down, and by great 
good luck found the room where the bullion was 
stored. The number of divers was increased, and 
the work of raising the bullion went on all that day. 
There is nothing like the lust for gold in the hearts 
of men. From stem to stern of the Bridgwater 
Merchant and the Swallow this wild will had its way. 
Work went on until the last moment of sun. That 
night talk was long and sleep short, and work was 
on again at sunrise. In three days . they took up 
thirty-two tons of bullion. In the afternoon of the 
third day the storeroom was cleared; and then they 
searched the hold. Here they found, cunningly dis- 
tributed among the ballast, a great many bags of 
pieces-of-eight. These, having lain in the water so 
long, were crusted with a strong substance, which 
they had to break with iron bars. It was reserved for 
Phips himself to make the grand discovery. He 


IN THE TREASURE HOUSE. 193 

donned a diving-suit and went below to the sunken 
galleon. Silver and gold had been found, but he 
was sure there were other treasures. After much 
searching he found, in a secret place of the captain’s 
cabin, a chest, which, on being raised and broken 
open, was found full of pearls, diamonds and other 
precious stones. 

And now the work was complete, and on board 
the Bridgwater Merchant was treasure to the sum of 
three hundred thousand pounds and more. Joyfully 
did Phips raise anchor. But first he sent to the 
handful of people in the port a liberal gift of money 
and wine and provisions from the ship’s stores. With 
a favourable breeze he got away agreeably, and was 
clear of the harbour and cleaving northward before 
sunset — the Swallow leading the treasure-ship like a 
pilot. All was joy and hilarity; but there remained 
one small danger yet ; they had raised their treasure 
unmolested, but could they bring it to Boston and on 
to England? Phips would have asked that question 
very seriously indeed had he known that the Maid of 
Provence was bowling out of the nor’-east towards 
the port which he had just left. 

The Maid of Provence had had a perilous travel. 


194 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


Escaping the English warships, , she fell in with a 
pirate craft. She closed with it, plugged it with can- 
non-shot, and drew off, then took the wind on her 
beam and came drifting down on her, boarded her, 
and, after a swift and desperate fight, killed every 
pirate-rogue save one — the captain — whom for reasons 
they made a prisoner. Then they sank the rover, 
and got away to Port de la Planta as fast as they were 
able. But by reason of the storm and the fighting, 
and drifting out of their course, they had lost ten 
days ; and thus it was they reached the harbour a few 
hours after the Bridgwater Merchant and the Swal- 
low had left. 

They waited till morning and sailed cautiously in 
— to face disappointment. They quickly learned the 
truth from the natives. There was but one thing to 
do, and Iberville lost no time. A few hours to get 
fresh water and fruit and to make some repairs, for 
the pirate had not been idle in the fight — and then 
Berigord gave the nose of the good little craft to the 
sea, and drove her on with an honest wind, like a 
hound upon the scent. Iberville was vexed, but not 
unduly ; he had the temper of a warrior who is both 
artist and gamester. As he said to Perrot, “ Well, 


IN THE TREASURE HOUSE. 


195 


Nick, they’ve saved us the trouble of lifting the 
treasure ; we’ll see now who shall beach it.” 

He guessed that the English ships would sail to 
Boston for better arming ere they ventured to the 
English Channel. He knew the chances were against 
him, but it was his cue to keep heart in his follow- 
ers. For days they sailed without seeing a single 
ship ; then three showed upon the horizon and faded 
away. They kept on, passing Florida and Carolina, 
hoping to reach Boston before the treasure-ships, and 
to rob them at their own door. Their chances were 
fair, for the Maid of Provence had proved swift, good- 
tempered and a sweet sailor in bad waters. 

Iberville had reckoned well. One evening, after a 
sail northward as fine as the voyage down was dirty, 
they came up gently within forty miles of Boston, 
and then, because there was nothing else to do, went 
idling up and down all night, keeping watch. The 
next morning there was a mist in the air, which 
might come fog. Iberville had dreaded this ; but he 
was to have his chance, for even when Berigord’s face 
loured most the lookout from the shrouds called down 
that he sighted two ships. They were making for 
the coast. All sail was put on, they got away to meet 


196 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


the new-comers, and they were not long in finding 
these to be their quarry. 

Phips did not think that any ship would venture 
against them so near Boston, and could not believe 
the Maid of Provence an enemy. He thought her an 
English ship eager to welcome them, but presently he 
saw the white ensign of France at the mizzen, and a 
round shot rattled through the rigging of the Bridg- 
water Merchant. 

But he was two to one and the game seemed with 
him. No time was wasted. Phips’ ships came to 
and stood alongside, and the gunners got to work. 
The Bridgwater Merchant was high in the water, 
and her shot at first did little damage to the Maid of 
Provence , which, having the advantage of the wind, 
came nearer and nearer. The Sivallow, with her 
twenty odd guns, did better work, and carried away 
the foremast of the enemy, killing several men. But 
Iberville came on slowly, and, anxious to dispose of 
the Swalloiv first, gave her broadsides between wind 
and water, so that soon her decks were spotted with 
dying men, her bulwarks broken in, and her main- 
mast gone. The cannonade was heard in Boston, 
from which, a few hours later, two merchantmen 


IN THE TREASURE HOUSE. 197 

set out for the scene of action, each carrying good 
guns. 

But the wind suddenly sank, and as the Maid of 
Provence , eager to close with the Bridgwater Mer- 
chant , edged slowly down, a fog came between, and 
the firing ceased on both sides. Iberville let his ship 
drift on her path, intent on a hand-to-hand fight 
aboard the Bridgwater Merchant ; the grappling 
irons were ready, and as they drifted there was 
silence. 

Every eye was strained. Suddenly a shape sprang 
out of the grey mist, and the Maid of Provence 
struck. There was a crash of timbers as the bows of 
the Swallotv — it was she — were stove in, and then a 
wild cry. Instantly she began to sink. The grap- 
pling-irons remained motionless on the Maid of 
Provence . Iberville heard a commanding voice, a 
cheer, and saw a dozen figures jump from the shat- 
tered bow towards the bow of his own ship intent on 
fighting, but all fell short save one. It was a great 
leap, but the Englishman made it, catching the 
chains, and scrambing on deck. A cheer greeted him 
— the Frenchmen could not but admire so brave a 
feat. The Englishman took no notice, but instantly 


198 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


turned to see his own ship lurch forward and, without 
a sound from her decks, sink gently down to her 
grave. He stood looking at the place where she had 
been, but there was only mist. He shook his head 
and a sob rattled in his throat ; his brave, taciturn 
crew had gone down without a cry. He turned and 
faced his enemies. They had crowded forward — Iber- 
ville, Sainte-Helene, Perrot, Maurice Joval, and the 
staring sailors. He choked down his emotion and 
faced them all like an animal at bay as Iberville 
stepped forward. Without a word Gering pointed to 
the empty scabbard at his side. 

“Ho, pardon me,” said Iberville drily, “not as our 
prisoner, monsieur. You have us at advantage ; you 
will remain our guest.” 

“ I want no quarter,” said Gering proudly and a 
little sullenly. 

“ There can be no question of quarter, monsieur. 
You are only one against us all. You cannot fight; 
you saved your life by boarding us. Plospitality is 
sacred ; you may not be a prisoner of war, for there is 
no war between our countries.” 

“ You came upon a private quarrel ? ” asked 
Gering. 


IN THE TREASURE HOUSE. 


199 


“ Truly ; and for the treasure— fair bone of fight 
between us.” 

There was a pause, in which Gering stood half 
turned from them, listening. But the Bridgwater 
Merchant had drifted away in the mist ! Presently 
he turned again to Iberville with a smile defiant and 
triumphant. Iberville understood, but showed noth- 
ing of what he felt, and he asked Sainte-Helene to 
show Gering to the cabin. 

When the fog cleared away there was no sign of 
the Bridgwater Merchant, and Iberville, sure that she 
had made the port of Boston, and knowing that there 
must be English vessels searching for him, bore away 
to Quebec with Gering on board. 

He parted from his rival the day they arrived — 
Perrot was to escort him a distance on his way to 
Boston. 

Gering thanked him for his courtesy. 

“ Indeed, then,” said Iberville, “ this is a debt — if 
you choose to call it so — for which I would have no 
thanks — no. For it would please me better to render 
accounts all at once some day, and get return in differ- 
ent form, Monsieur.” 

“ Monsieur,” said Gering, a little grandly, “ you 
14 


200 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


have come to me three times ; next time I will come 
to you.” 

“ I trust that you will keep your word,” answered 
Iberville, smiling. 

That day Iberville, protesting helplessly, was 
ordered away to France on a man-of-war, which had 
rocked in the harbour of Quebec for a month await- 
ing his return. Even Frontenac himself could not 
help him, for the order had come from the French 
minister. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE GIFT OF A CAPTIVE. 

Fortune had not been kind to Iberville, but still 
he kept a stoical cheerfulness. With the pride of a 
man who feels that he has impressed a woman, and 
knowing the strength of his purpose, he believed that 
Jessica would yet be his. Meanwhile matters should 
not lie still. In those days men made love by proxy, 
and Iberville turned to De Casson and Perrot. 

The night before he started for France they sat 
together in a little house flanking the Chdteau St. 
Louis. Iberville had been speaking. 

“ I know the strength of your feelings, Iberville,” 
said De Casson, “ but is it wise, and is it right ? ” 

Iberville made an airy motion with his hand. 
“ My dear abbe, there is but one thing worth living 
for, and that is to follow your convictions. See: I 
have known you since you took me from my mother’s 

last farewell. I have believed in you, cared for you, 

( 201 ) 


202 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


trusted you; we have been good comrades. Come, 
now, tell me : what would you think if my mind 
drifted! No, no, no! to stand by one’s own heart is 
the gift of an honest man. I am a sad rogue, abbe, 
as you know, but I swear I would sooner let slip the 
friendship of King Louis himself than the hand of a 
good comrade. Well, my sword is for my king. I 
must obey him, I must leave my comrades behind, 
hut I shall not forget, and they must not forget.” At 
this he got to his feet, came over, laid a hand on the 
abbe’s shoulder, and his voice softened, “Abbe, the 
woman shall be mine.” 

“ If God wills so, Iberville.” 

“ He will, He will ! ” 

“ Well,” said Perrot, with a little laugh ; “ I think 
God will be good to a Frenchman when an English- 
man is his foe.” 

“ But the girl is English — and a heretic,” urged 
the abbe helplessly. 

Perrot laughed again. “ That will make Him 
sorry for her.” 

Meanwhile Iberville had turned to the table, and 
was now reading a letter. A pleased look came on 
his face, and he nodded in satisfaction. At last he 


THE GIFT OF A CAPTIVE. 203 

folded it up with a smile and sealed it. “ Well,” he 
said, “ the English is not good, for I have seen my 
Shakespeare little this time back, but it will do — it 
must do. In such things rhetoric is nothing. You 
will take it, Perrot ? ” he said, holding up the letter. 

Perrot reached out for it. 

“And there is something more.” Iberville drew 
from his finger a costly ring. It had come from the 
hand of a Spanish noble, whose place he had taken 
in Spain years before. He had prevented his men 
from despoiling the castle, had been bidden to take 
what he would, and had chosen only this. 

“ Tell her,” he said, “ that it was the gift of a 
captive to me, and that it is the gift of a captive to 
her. For, upon my soul, I am prisoner to none other 
in God’s world.” 

Perrot weighed the ring up and down in his hand. 
“ Bien ,” he said, “ monsieur, it is a fine speech, but I 
do not understand. A prisoner, eh? I remember 
when you were a prisoner with me upon the Ottawa. 
Only a boy — only a boy, but, holy Mother, that was 
different! I will tell her how you never gave up; 
how you went on the hunt after Grey Diver, the 
Iroquois. Through the woods, silent — silent for days 


204 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


and days, Indians all round us. Death in the brush, 
death in the tree-top, d'eath from the river-bank. I 
said to you, Give up ; but you kept on. Then there 
were days when there was no sleep — no rest — we were 
like ghosts. Sometimes we come to a settler’s cabin 
and see it all smoking ; sometimes to a fort and find 
only a heap of bones— and other things! But you 
would not give up ; you kept on. What for ? That 
Indian chief killed your best friend. Well, that was 
for hate ; you keep on and on and on for hate — and 
you had your way with Grey Diver ; I heard your axe 
crash in his skull. All for hate ! And what will you 
do for love? — I will ask her what will you do for 
love. Ah, you are a great man —maisoui! I will 
tell her so.” 

“Tell her what you please, Perrot.” 

Iberville hummed an air as at some goodly pros- 
pect. Yet when he turned to the others again there 
grew a quick mist in his eyes. It was not so much 
the thought of the woman as of the men. There 
came to him with sudden force how these two com- 
rades had been ever ready to sacrifice themselves for 
him and he ready to accept the sacrifice. He was not 
ashamed of the mist, but he wondered that the thing 


THE GIFT OF A CAPTIVE. 


205 


had come to him all at once. He grasped the hands 
of both, shook them heartily, then dashed his fingers 
across his eyes, and with the instinct of every im- 
perfect man, — that touch of the aboriginal in all of 
us, who must have a sign for an emotion, — he went to 
a cabinet and out came a bottle of wine. 

An hour after, Perrot left him at the ship’s side. 
They were both cheerful. “ Two years, Perrot ; two 
years ! ” he said. 

“Ah, mon grand capitame ! ” 

Iberville turned away, then came back again. 
“ You will start at once ? ” 

“ At once ; and the abbe shall write.” 

Upon the lofty bank of the St. Lawrence, at the 
Sault au Matelot, a tall figure clad in a cassock stood 
and watched the river below. On the high cliff of 
Point Levis lights were showing, and fires burning as 
far off as the island of Orleans. And in that sweet 
curve of shore, from the St. Charles to Beauport, 
thousands of stars seemed shining. Hearer still, from 
the heights, there was the same strange scintillation ; 
the great promontory had a coronet of stars. In the 
lower town there was like illumination, and out upon 
the river trailed long processions of light. It was the 


206 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


feast of good Saint Anne de Beaupre. All day long 
had there been masses and processions on land. Hun- 
dreds of Jesuits, with thousands of the populace, had 
filed behind the cross and the host. And now there 
was a candle in every window. Indians, half-breeds, 
coureurs du bois, native Canadians, seigneurs, and 
noblesse, were joining in the function. But De Cas- 
son’s eyes were not for these. He was watching the 
lights of a ship that slowly made its way down the 
river among the canoes, and his eyes never left it till 
it had passed beyond the island of Orleans and was 
lost in the night. 

“ Dear lad ! ” he said, “ dear lad ! She is not for 
him ; she should not be. As a priest it were my duty 
to see that he should not marry her. As a man,” he 
sighed — “ as a man I would give my life for him.” 

He lifted his hand and made the sign of the cross 
towards that spot on the horizon whither Iberville 
had gone. 

“ He will be a great man some day,” he added to 
himself, — “ a great man. There will be empires here, 
and when histories are written Pierre’s shall be a 
name beside Frontenac’s and La Salle’s.” 

All the human affection of the good abbe’s life 


THE GIFT OF A CAPTIVE. 207 

centered upon Iberville. Giant in stature, so ascetic 
and refined was liis mind, his life, that he had the in- 
tuition of a woman and, what was more, little of the 
bigotry of his brethren. As he turned from the 
heights, made his way along the cliff and down Moun- 
tain Street, his thoughts were still upon the same sub- 
ject. He suddenly paused. 

“ He will marry -the sword,” he said, “and not the 
woman.” 

How far he was right we may judge if we enter 
the house of Governor Nicholls at Hew York one 
month later. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


MAIDED NO MORE. 

It was late midsummer, and just such an evening 
as had seen the attempted capture of Jessica Leveret 
years before. She sat at a window, looking out upon 
the garden and the river. The room was at the top 
of the house. It had been to her a kind of playroom 
when she had visited Governor Nicholls years before. 
To every woman memory is a kind of religion ; and 
to Jessica as much as to any, perhaps more than to 
most, for she had imagination. She half sat, half 
knelt, her elbow on her knee, her soft cheek resting 
upon her firm, delicate hand. Her beauty was as fresh 
and sweet as on the day we first saw her. More, 
something deep and rich had entered into it. Her 
eyes had got that fine steadfastness which only deep 
tenderness and pride can give a woman : she had 
lived. She was smiling now, yet she was not merry ; 

her brightness was the sunshine of a nature touched 

( 208 ) 


MAIDEN NO MORE. 


209 


with an Arcadian simplicity. Such an one could not 
be wholly unhappy. Being made for others more 
than for herself, she had something of the divine gift 
of self-forgetfulness. 

As she sat there, her eyes ever watching the river 
as though for someone she expected, there came from 
the garden beneath the sound of singing. It was not 
loud, hut deep and strong — 

As the wave to the shore, as the dew to the leaf, 

As the breeze to the flower, 

As the scent of a rose to the heart of a child, 

As the rain to the dusty land — 

My heart goeth out unto Thee— unto Thee ! 

The night is far spent and the day is at hand. 

As the song of a bird to the call of a star, 

As the sun to the eye, 

As the anvil of man to the hammers of God, 

As the snow to the north — 

Is my word unto Thy word — Thy word ! 

The night is far spent and the day is at hand. 

It was Morris who was singing. With growth of 
years had come increase of piety, and it was his cus- 
tom once a week to gather about him such of the 
servants as would for the reading of Scripture. 

To Jessica the song had no religious significance. 


210 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


By the time it had passed through the atmosphere of 
memory and meditation, it carried a different mean- 
ing. Her forehead dropped forward in her fingers, 
and remained so until the song ended. Then she 
sighed, smiled wistfully and shook her head. 

“ Poor fellow ! poor Iberville ! ” she said, almost 
beneath her breath. 

The next morning she was to be married. George 
Gering had returned to her, for the second time de- 
feated by Iberville. He had proved himself a brave 
man, and, what was much in her father’s sight, he 
was to have his share of Phips’ booty. And what was 
still more, Gering had prevailed upon Phips to allow 
Mr. Leveret’s investment in the first expedition to re- 
ceive a dividend from the second. Therefore she was 
ready to fulfil her promise. Yet had she misgivings? 
For, only a few days before, she had sent for the old 
pastor at Boston, who had known her since she was a 
child. She wished, she said, to be married by him 
and no other at Governor Nicholls’ house, rather than 
at her own home at Boston, where there was none 
other of her name. 

The old pastor had come that afternoon, and she 
had asked him to see her that evening. Not long 


MAIDEN NO MORE. 


211 


after Morris had done with singing there came a tap- 
ping at her door. She answered and old Pastor Mack- 
lin entered — a white-haired man of kindly yet stern 
countenance — by nature a gentleman, by practice a 
bigot. He came forward and took both her hands as 
she rose. “ My dear young lady ! ” he said, and 
smiled kindly at her. After a word of greeting she 
offered him a chair, and came again to the window. 

Presently she looked up and said very simply, “ I 
am going to be married. You have known me ever 
since I was born : do you think I will make a good 
wife ? ” 

“ With prayer and chastening of the spirit, my 
daughter,” he said. 

“ But suppose that at the altar I remembered an- 
other man ? ” 

“ A sin, my child, for which should be due sor- 
row.” 

The girl smiled sadly. She felt poignantly how 
little he could help her. 

“ And if the man were a Catholic and a French- 
man ? ” she said. 

“ A papist and a Frenchman ! ” he cried, lifting up 
his hands. “ My daughter, you ever were too play- 


212 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


ful. You speak of things impossible. I pray you lis- 
ten.” 

Jessica raised her hand as if to stop him and to 
speak herself, but she let him go on. With the least 
encouragement she might have told him all. She had 
had her moment of weakness, but now it was past. 
There are times when every woman feels she must 
have a confidant or her heart will burst — have counsel 
or she will die. Such a time had come to Jessica. 
But she now learned, as we all must learn, that we 
live our dark hour alone. 

She listened as in a dream to the kindly bigot. 
When he had finished, she knelt and received his 
blessing. All the time she wore that strange, quiet 
smile. Soon afterwards he left her. 

She went again to the window. “ A papist and a 
Frenchman — an unpardonable sin ! ” she said into the 
distance. “ J essica, what a sinner art thou ! ” 

Presently there was a tap, the door opened, and 
George Gering entered. She turned to receive him, 
but there was no great lighting of the face. He 
came quickly to her, and ran his arm round her waist. 
A great kindness looked out of her eyes. Somehow 
she felt herself superior to him — her love was less and 


MAIDEN NO MORE. 


213 


her nature deeper. He pressed her fingers to his lips. 
“ Of what were you thinking, Jessica?” he asked. 

“ Of what a sinner I am,” she answered, with a sad 
kind of humour. 

“ What a villain must I be, then ! ” he responded. 

“Well, yes,” she said musingly; “I think you are 
something of a villain, George.” 

“ Well, well, you shall cure me of all mine iniqui- 
ties,” he said. “ There will be a lifetime for it. 
Come, let us to the garden.” 

“ Wait,” she said. “ I told you that I was a sinner, 
George ; I want to tell you how.” 

“ Tell me nothing ; let us both go and repent,” he 
rejoined, laughing, and he hurried her away. She 
had lost her opportunity. 

Next morning she was married. The day was 
glorious. The town was garlanded, and there was 
not an English merchant or a Dutch burgher but 
wore his holiday dress. The ceremony ended, a trav- 
eller came among the crowd. He asked a hurried 
question or two and then edged away. Soon he made 
a stand under the trees, and, viewing the scene, nod- 
ded his head and said, “ The abbe was right! ” 

It was Perrot. A few hours afterwards the crowd 


214 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


had gone and the governor’s garden was empty. Per- 
rot still kept his watch under the tree, though why he 
could hardly say — his errand was useless now. But 
he had the gift of waiting. At last he saw a figure 
issue from a door and go down into the garden. Per- 
rot remembered the secret gate. He made a detour, 
reached it, and entered. She was walking up and 
down in the pines. In an hour or so she was to leave 
for England. Her husband had gone to the ship to 
do some needful things, and she had stolen out for a 
moment’s quiet. When Perrot faced her, she gave a 
little cry and started back. But presently she recov- 
ered, smiled at him, and said kindly, “ You come sud- 
denly^ monsieur.” 

“ Yet have I travelled hard and long,” he answered. 

“ Yes? ” 

“ And I have a message for you.” 

“ A message ? ” she said abstractedly, and turned a 
little pale. 

“ A message and a gift from Monsieur Iberville.” 

He drew the letter and the ring from his pocket 
and held them out, repeating Iberville’s message. 
There was a troubled look in her eyes, and she was 
trembling a little now, but she spoke clearly. 


MAIDEN NO MORE. 


215 

“ Monsieur,” . she said, “you will tell Monsieur 
Iberville that I may not ; I am married.” 

“ So, madame,” he said. “ But I still must give 
my message.” When he had done so he said, “Will 
you take the letter? ” He held it out. 

There was a moment’s doubt and then she took it, 
but she did not speak. 

“ Shall I carry no message, madame ? ” 

She hesitated. Then, at last, “Say that I wish 
him good fortune with all my heart.” 

“ Good fortune — Ah, madame ! ” he answered, in a 
meaning tone. 

“ Say that I pray God may bless him, and make 
him a friend of my country,” she added in a low, 
almost broken voice, and she held out her hand to 
him. 

The gallant woodsman pressed it to his lips. “ I 
am sorry, madame,” he replied, with an admiring 
look. 

She shook her head sadly. “ Adieu, monsieur ! ” 
she said steadily and very kindly. 

A moment after he was gone. She looked at the 
missive steadfastly for a moment, then thrust it into 

the folds of her dress and, very pale, walked quietly 
15 


216 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


to the house, where, inside her own room, she lighted 
a candle. She turned the letter over in her hand 
once or twice, and her fingers hung at the seal. But 
all at once she raised it to her lips, and then with a 
grave, firm look, held it in the flame and saw it pass 
in smoke. It was the last effort for victory. 


(E: per cl) tl)c ifoxTttl). 


CHAPTER XIX 

WHICH TELLS OF A BROTHER’S BLOOD CRYING 
FROM THE GROUND. 

Two men stood leaning against a great gun aloft 
on the heights of Quebec. The air of an October 
morning fluttered the lace at their breasts and lifted 
the long brown hair of the younger man from his 
shoulders. His companion was tall, alert, bronzed, 
grey-headed, with an eagle eye and a glance of au- 
thority. He laid his hand on the shoulder of the 
younger man and said, “ I am glad you have come, 
Iberville, for I need you, as I need all your brave 
family — I could spare not one.” 

“ You honour me, sir,” was the reply ; “ and, be- 
lieve me, there is none in Quebec but thanks God 
that their governor is here before Phips rounds Isle 
Orleans yonder.” 


( 217 ) 


218 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


“ You did nobly while I was away there in Montreal, 
waiting for the New Yorkers to take it — if they could. 
They were a sorry rabble, for they rushed on La Prai- 
rie, — that meagre place — massacred and turned tail.” 

“ That’s strange, sir, for they are brave men, 
stupid though they be. I have fought them.” 

“Well, well, as that may be! We will give them 
chance for bravery. Our forts are strong from the 
Sault au Matelot round to Champigny’s palace, the 
trenches and embankments are well ended, and if 
they give me but two days more I will hold the place 
against twice their thirty-four sail and twenty-five 
hundred men.” 

“ For how long, your Excellency ? ” 

Count Frontenac nodded. “ Spoken like a soldier. 
There’s the vital point. By the mass, just so long as 
food lasts ! But here we are with near two thousand 
men, and all the people from the villages, besides Cal- 
ibres’ seven or eight hundred, should they arrive in 
time — and, pray God they may, for there will be work 
to do. If they come at us in front here and behind 
from the Saint Charles, shielding their men as they 
cross the river, we shall have none too many ; but we 
must hold it.” 


A BROTHER'S BLOOD CRYING. 


219 


The governor drew himself up proudly. He had 
sniffed the air of battle for over fifty years with all 
manner of enemies, and his heart was in the thing. 
Never had there been in Quebec a more moving sight 
than when he arrived from Montreal the evening be- 
fore, and. climbed Mountain Street on his way to the 
chateau. Women and children pressed round him, 
blessing him ; priests, as he passed, lifted hands in 
benediction ; men cheered and cried for joy ; in every 
house there was thanksgiving that the imperious old 
veteran had come in time, 

Prevost the town mayor, Champigny the Intend- 
ant, Sainte-Helene, Maricourt, and Longueil, had 
worked with the skill of soldiers who knew their duty, 
and it was incredible what had been done since the 
alarm had come to Prevost that Phips had entered 
the St. Lawrence and was anchored at Tadousac. 

“And how came you to be here, Iberville?” queried 
the governor pleasantly. “ We scarce expected you.” 

“The promptings of the saints and the happy 
kindness of King Louis, who will send my ship here 
after me. I boarded the first merchantman with its 
nose to the sea, and landed here soon after you left 
for Montreal.” 


220 THE trail of the sword. 

“ So ? Good ! See you, see you, Iberville : what 
of the lady Puritan’s marriage with the fire-eating 
Englishman ? ” 

The governor smiled as he spoke, not looking at 
Iberville. His glance was upon the batteries in lower 
town. He had inquired carelessly, for he did not 
think the question serious at this distance of time. 
Getting no answer, he turned smartly upon Iberville, 
surprised, and he was struck by the sudden hardness 
in the sun-browned face and the flashing eyes. Years 
had deepened the power of face and form. 

“ Your excellency will remember,” he answered, 
in a low cold tone, “ that I once was counselled to 
marry the sword.” 

The governor laid his hand upon Iberville’s 
shoulder. “ Pardon me,” he said. “ I was not wise 
or kind. But I warrant the sword will be your best 
wife in the end.” 

“ I have a favour to ask, your excellency.” 

“ You might ask many, my Iberville. If all gen- 
tlemen here, clerics and laymen, asked as few as you, 
my life would be peaceful. Your services have been 
great, one way and another. Ask, and I almost prom- 
ise now.” 


A BROTHER’S BLOOD CRYING. 221 

“ ’Tis this. Six months ago you had a prisoner 
here, captured on the New England border. After 
he was exchanged you found that he had sent a plan 
of the fortifications to the Government of Massachu- 
setts. He passed in the name of George Escott. Do 
you remember ? ” 

“ Very well indeed.” 

“ Suppose he were taken prisoner again ? ” 

“ I should try him.” 

“And shoot him, if guilty ? ” 

“ Or hang him.” 

“ His name was not Escott. It was Gering — Cap- 
tain George Gering.” 

The governor looked hard at Iberville for a mo- 
ment, and a grim smile played upon his lips. “ Il’m ! 
How do you guess that ? ” 

“From Perrot, who knows him well.” 

“ Why did Perrot not tell me ? ” 

“ Perrot and Sainte-IIelene had been up at Sault 
Sainte Marie. They did not arrive until the day he 
was exchanged, nor did not know till then. There 
was no grave reason for speaking, and they said noth- 
ing” 

“ And what imports this?” 


222 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


“ I have no doubt that Mr. Gering is with Sir 
William Phips below at Tadousac. If he is taken let 
him be at my disposal.” 

The governor pursed his lips, then flashed a deep, 
inquiring glance at his companion. “ The new mis- 
tress turned against the old, Iberville ! ” he said. 
“Gering is her husband, eh? Well, I will trust you : 
it shall be as you wish — a matter for us two alone.” 

At that moment Sainte-Helene and Maricourt 
appeared, and presently, in the waning light, they all 
went down towards the convent of the Ursulines, and 
made their way round the rock, past the three gates to 
the palace of the Intendant, and so on to the St. 
Charles River. 

Next morning word was brought that Phips was 
coming steadily up, and would probably arrive that 
day. All was bustle in the town, and prayers and 
work went on without ceasing. Late in the afternoon 
the watchers from the rock of Quebec saw the ships 
of the New England fleet slowly rounding the point 
of the Island of Orleans. 

To the eyes of Sir William Phips and his men the 
great fortress, crowned with walls, towers, and guns, 
rising three hundred feet above the water, the white 


A BROTHER'S BLOOD CRYING. 223 

banner flaunting from the chateau and the citadel, 
the batteries, the sentinels upon the walls — were sug- 
gestive of stern work. Presently there drew away 
from Phips’ fleet a boat carrying a subaltern with a 
flag of truce, who was taken blindfold to the Chateau 
St. Louis. Frontenac’s final words to the youth were 
these : “ Bid your master do his best, and I will do 
mine.” 

Disguised as a riverman, Iberville himself, with 
others, rowed the subaltern back almost to the side of 
the admiral’s ship, for by the freak of some peasants 
the boat which had brought him had been set adrift. 
As they rowed from the ship back towards the shore, 
Iberville, looking up, saw, standing on the deck Phips 
and George Gering. He had come for this. He stood 
up in his boat and took off his cap. His long clustering 
curls fell loose on his shoulders, and he waved a hand 
with a nonchalant courtesy. Gering sprang forward. 
“ Iberville ! ” he cried, and drew his pistol. 

Iberville saw the motion, but did not stir. He 
called up, however, in a clear, distinct voice, “Breaker 
of parole, keep your truce ! ” 

“ He is right,” said Gering quietly ; “ quite right.” 

Gering was now hot for instant landing and at- 


224 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


tack. Had Phips acted upon his advice the record 
of the next few days might have been reversed. But 
the disease of counsel, deliberation and prayer had 
entered into the soul of the sailor and treasure-hunter, 
now Sir William Phips, governor of Massachusetts. 
He delayed too long : the tide turned ; there could be 
no landing that night. 

Just after sundown there was a great noise, and 
the ringing of bells and sound of singing came over 
the water to the idle fleet. 

“What does it mean?” asked Phips of a French 
prisoner captured at Tadousac. 

“ Ma foi! That you lose the game,” was the 
reply. “ Callieres, the governor of Montreal, with his 
Canadians, and Nicholas Perrot with his coureurs du 
hois have arrived. You have too much delay, mon- 
sieur.” 

In Quebec, when this contingent arrived, the peo- 
ple went wild. And Perrot was never prouder than 
when, in Mountain Street, Iberville, after three years’ 
absence, threw his arms round him and kissed him on 
each cheek. 

It was in the dark hour before daybreak that Iber- 
ville and Perrot met for their first talk after the long 


A BROTHER’S BLOOD CRYING. 


225 


separation. What had occurred on the day of Jessi- 
ca’s marriage Perrot had, with the Abbe de Casson’s 
help, written to Iberville. But they had had no words 
together. Now, in a room of the citadel which looked 
out on the darkness of the river and the deeper gloom 
of the Levis shore, they sat and talked, a single candle 
burning, their weapons laid on the table between 
them. 

They said little at first, but sat in the window 
looking down on the town and the river. At last 
Iberville spoke. “ Tell me it all as you remember it, 
Perrot.” 

Perrot, usually swift of speech when once started, 
was very slow now. He felt the weight of every 
word, and he had rather have told of the scalping of 
a hundred men than of his last meeting with Jessica. 
When he had finished, Iberville said, “ She kept the 
letter, you say ? ” 

Perrot nodded, and drew the ring from a pouch 
which he carried. “ I have kept it safe,” he said, and 
held it out. Iberville took it and turned it over in 
his hand, with an enigmatical smile. “ I will hand it 
to her myself,” he said, half beneath his breath. 

“ You do not give her up, monsieur ? ” 


220 THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 

Iberville laughed. Then he leaned forward, and 
found Perrot’s eyes in the half darkness. “ Perrot, 
she kept the letter, she would have kept the ring if 
she could. Listen : Monsieur Gering has held to his 
word ; he has come to seek me this time. He knows 
that while I live the woman is not his, though she 
bears his name. She married him — Why ? It is no 
matter— he was there, I was not. There were her 
father, her friends ! I was a Frenchman, a Catholic 
—a thousand things! And a woman will yield her 
hand while her heart remains in her own keeping. 
Well, he has come. Now, one way or another he 
must be mine. We have great accounts to settle, and 
I want it done between him and me. If he remains 
in the ship we must board it. With our one little 
craft there in the St. Charles we will sail out, grapple 
the admiral’s ship, and play a great game : one against 
thirty-four. It has been done before. Capture the 
admiral’s ship and we can play the devil with the 
rest of them. If not, we can die. Or, if Gering lands 
and fights, he also must be ours. Sainte-Helene and 
Maricourt know him, and they with myself, Cler- 
mont, and Saint Denis, are to lead and resist attacks 
by land — Frontenac has promised that : so he must 


A BROTHER’S BLOOD CRYING. 


227 


be ours one way or another. He must be cap- 
tured, tried as a spy, and then he is mine — is 
mine ! ” 

“ Tried as a spy — ah, I see ! You would disgrace ? 
Well, but even then he is not yours.” 

Iberville got to his feet. “ Don’t try to think it 
out, Perrot. It will come to you in good time. I 
can trust you — you are with me in all?” 

“ Have I ever failed you ? ” 

“ Never. You will not hesitate to go against the 
admiral’s ship? Think, what an adventure! Re- 
member Adam Dollard and the Long Sault! ” 

What man in Canada did not remember that 
handful of men, going out with an antique courage 
to hold back the Iroquois, and save the colony, 
and die? Perrot grasped Iberville’s hand, and said, 
“ Where you go, I go. Where I go my men will 
follow.” 

Their pact was made. They sat there in silence 
till the grey, light of morning crept slowly in. Still 
they did not lie down to rest ; they were waiting for 
De Casson. He came before a ray of sunshine had 
pierced the leaden light. Tall, massive, proudly built, 
his white hair a rim about his forehead, his deep eyes 


228 THE trail of the sword. 

watchful and piercing, he looked a soldier in disguise, 
as indeed he was to-day as much a soldier as when he 
fought at Turenne forty years before. 

The three comrades were together again. 

Iberville told his plans. The abbe lifted his fin- 
gers in admonition once or twice, but his eyes flashed 
as Iberville spoke of an attempt to capture the admi- 
ral on his own ship. When Iberville had finished, he 
said in a low voice — 

“ Pierre, must it still be so — that the woman shall 
prompt you to these things ? ” 

“I have spoken of no woman, abbe.” 

“ Yet you have spoken.” He sighed and raised 
his hand. 44 The man — the men — down there would 
destroy our country. They are our enemies, and we 
do well to slay. But remember, Pierre — 4 What God 
hath joined let no man put asunder ! ’ To fight him 
as an enemy of your country — well ; to fight him that 
you may put asunder is not well.” 

A look, half-pained, half-amused, crossed Iber- 
ville’s face. 

“ And yet heretics — heretics, abbe ! ” 

“ Marriage is no heresy.” 

44 Il’m— they say different at Versailles.” 


A BROTHER’S BLOOD CRYING. 229 

“ Since De Montespan went, and De Maintenon 
rules? ” 

Iberville laughed. “ Well, well, perhaps not.” 

They sat silent for a time, but presently Iberville 
rose, went to a cupboard, drew forth some wine and 
meat, and put some coffee on the fire. Then, with a 
gesture as of remembrance, he went to a box, drew 
forth his own violin, and placed it in the priest’s 
hands. It seemed strange that, in the midst of such 
great events, — the loss or keeping of an empire, — 
these men should thus devote the few hours granted 
them for sleep ; but they did according to their na- 
tures. The priest took the instrument and tuned it 
softly. Iberville blew out the candle. There was 
only the light of the fire, with the gleam of the slow- 
coming dawn. Once again, even as years before in 
the little house at Montreal, De Casson played — now 
with a martial air. At last he struck the chords of a 
song which had been a favourite with the Carignan- 
Salidres regiment. 

Instantly Iberville and Perrot responded, and 
there rang out from three strong throats the 
words — 


230 


THE TRAIL OF TIIE SWORD. 


“ There was a king of Normandy 
And he rode forth to war, 

Gai faluron falurette ! 

He had five hundred men — no more ! 

Gai faluron donde ! 

“ There was a king of Normandy, 

Came back from war again ; 

He brought a maid, 0, fair was she! 

And twice five hundred men — 

Gai faluron falurette ! 

Gai faluron donde ! ’* 

They were still singing when soldiers came by the 
window in the first warm light of sunrise. These 
caught it up, singing it as they marched on. It was 
taken up again by other companies, and by the time 
Iberville presented himself to Count Frontenac, not 
long after, there was hardly a citizen, soldier, or 
woodsman, but was singing it. 

The w r eather and water were blustering all that 
day, and Phips did not move, save for a small at- 
tempt — repulsed — by a handful of men to examine 
the landing. The next morning, however, the attack 
began. Twelve hundred men were landed at Beau- 
port, in the mud and low water, under one Major 
Walley. With him was Gering, keen for action — 


A BROTHER’S BLOOD CRYING. 


231 


he had persuaded Phips to allow him to fight on 
land. 

To meet the English, Iberville, Sainte-Helene, 
and Perrot issued forth with three hundred sharp- 
shooters and a band of Huron Indians. In the skir- 
mish that followed Iberville and Perrot pressed with 
a handful of men forward very close to the ranks of 
the English. In the charge which the New Eng- 
lander ordered, Iberville and Perrot saw Gering, and 
they tried hard to reach him. But the movement be- 
tween made it impossible without running too great 
risk. For hours the fierce skirmishing went on, but 
in the evening the French withdrew and the New 
Englanders made their way towards the St. Charles, 
where vessels were to meet them, and protect them as 
they crossed the river and attacked the town in the 
rear — help that never came. For Phips, impatient, 
spent his day in a terrible cannonading, which did no 
great damage to the town — or the cliff. It was a 
game of thunder, nothing worse, and Walley and Ger- 
ing with their men were neglected. 

The fight with the ships began again at daybreak. 
Iberville, seeing that Walley would not attack, joined 
Sainte-Helene and Maricourt at the battery, and one 


232 THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 

of Iberville’s shots brought down the admiral’s flag- 
staff, with its cross of St. George. It drifted towards 
the shore, and Maurice J oval went out in a canoe un- 
der a galling fire and brought it up to Frontenac. 

Iberville and Sainte-Helene concentrated them- 
selves on the Six Friends — the admiral’s ship. In 
vain Phips’ gunners tried to dislodge them and their 
guns. They sent ball after ball into her hull and 
through her rigging ; they tore away her mainmast, 
shattered her mizzenmast, and handled her as vi- 
ciously as only expert gunners could. The New Eng- 
lander replied bravely, but Quebec was not destined 
to be taken by bombardment, and Iberville saw the 
Six Friends drift, a shattered remnant, out of his line 
of fire. 

It was the beginning of the end. One by one the 
thirty-four craft drew away, and Walley and Gering 
were left with their men, unaided in the siege. There 
was one moment when the cannonading was greatest 
and the skirmishers seemed withdrawn, that Gering, 
furious with the delay, almost prevailed upon the cau- 
tious Walley to dash across the river and make a des- 
perate charge up the hill, and in at the back door of 
the town. But Walley was, after all, a merchant and 


A BROTHER’S BLOOD CRYING. 


233 


not a soldier, and would not do it. Gering fretted 
on liis chain, sure that Iberville was with the guns 
against the ships, and would return to harass his New 
Englanders soon. That evening it turned bitter cold, 
and without the ammunition promised by Phips, with 
little or no food and useless field-pieces, their lot was 
hard. 

But Gering had his way the next morning. Wal- 
ley set out to the Six Friends to represent his case to 
the admiral. Gering saw how the men chafed, and 
he sounded a few of them. Their wills were with 
him : they had come to fight, and fight they would, if 
they could but get the chance. With a miraculous 
swiftness the whispered word went through the lines. 
Gering could not command them to it, but if the men 
went forward he must go with them ! The ships in 
front were silent. Quebec was now interested in these 
men near the St. Charles River. 

As Iberville stood with Frontenac near the palace 
of the Intendant, watching, he saw the enemy sud- 
denly hurry forward. In an instant he was dashing 
down to join his brothers, Sainte-Helene, Longueil, 
and Perrot ; and at the head of a body of men they 
pushed on to get over the ford and hold it, while 


234 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


Frontenac, leading three battalions of troops, got 
away more slowly. There were but a few hundred 
men with Iberville, arrayed against Gering’s many 
hundreds ; but the French were bush fighters and the 
New Englanders were only stout sailors and plough- 
men. Yet Gering had no reason to be ashamed of 
his men that day; they charged bravely, but their 
enemies were hid to deadly advantage behind trees 
and thickets, the best sharpshooters of the province. 

Perrot had had his orders from Iberville: Iber- 
ville himself was, if possible, to engage Gering in a 
hand-to-hand fight ; Perrot, on the other hand, was 
to cut Geriug off from his men and bring him in a 
prisoner. More than once both had Gering within 
range of their muskets, but they held their hands, nor 
indeed did Gering himself, who once also had a 
chance of bringing Iberville down, act on his oppor- 
tunity. Gering’s men were badly exposed, and he 
sent them hard at the thickets, clearing the outposts 
at some heavy loss. His men were now scattered, and 
he shifted his position so as to bring him nearer the 
sp6t where Sainte-Helene and Longueil were pushing 
forward fresh outposts. He saw the activity of the 
two brothers, but did not recognise them, and sent 


A BROTHER’S BLOOD CRYING. 


235 


a handful of men to dislodge them. Both Sainte- 
Helene and Longueil exposed themselves for a mo- 
ment, as they made for an advantageous thicket. 
Gering saw his opportunity, took a musket from 
a soldier and fired. Sainte-Helene fell mortally 
wounded. Longueil sprang forward with a cry of 
rage, but a spent ball struck him. 

Iberville, at a distance, saw the affair. With a 
smothered oath he snatched a musket from Maurice 
Joval, took steady aim and fired. The distance was 
too great, the wind too strong ; he only carried away 
an epaulet. But Perrot, who was not far from the 
fallen brothers, suddenly made a dash within easy 
range of the rifles of the British, and cut Gering and 
two of his companions off from the main body. It 
was done so suddenly that Gering found himself 
between two fires. His companions drew close to 
him, prepared to sell their lives dearly, but Perrot 
called to them to surrender. Gering saw the fruit- 
lessness of resistance and, to save his companions’ 
lives, yielded. 

The siege of Quebec was over. The British con- 
tented themselves with holding their position till 
Walley returned bearing the admiral’s orders to 


236 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


embark again for the fleet. And so in due time they 
did — in rain, cold, and gloom. 

In a few days Sir William Phips, having patched 
up his shattered ships, sailed away, with the knowl- 
edge that the capture of Quebec was not so easy as 
finding lost treasure. He had tried in vain to etfect 
Gering’s release. 

When Gering surrendered, Perrot took his sword 
with a grim coolness and said, “ Come, monsieur, and 
see what you think your stay with us may be like.” 

In a moment he was stopped beside the dead body 
of Sainte-Helene. “ Your musket did this,” said 
Perrot, pointing down. “ Do you know him ? ” 

Gering stooped over and looked. “ My God ! ” he 
said, “ Sainte-Helene ! ” 

Perrot crossed himself and mumbled a prayer. 
Then he took from his bosom a scarf and drew it 
over the face of the dead man. He turned to Lon- 
gueil. 

“ And here, monsieur, is another brother of Mon- 
sieur Iberville,” he said. 

Longueil was insensible but not dangerously 
wounded. Perrot gave a signal and the two brothers 
were lifted and carried down towards the ford, fol- 


A BROTHER’S BLOOD CRYING. 237 

lowed by Perrot and Gering. On their way they met 
Iberville. 

All the brother, the comrade, in Iberville spoke 
first. He felt Longueil’s hand and touched his pulse, 
then turned, as though he had not seen Gering, to the 
dead body of Sainte-Helene. Motioning to the men 
to put it down, he stooped and took Perrot’s scarf 
from the dead face. It was yet warm, and the hand- 
some features wore a smile. Iberville looked for a 
moment with a strange, cold quietness. He laid his 
hand upon the brow, touched the cheek, gave a great 
sigh, and made the sacred gesture over the face ; then 
taking his own handkerchief he spread it over the 
face. Presently he motioned for the bodies to be car- 
ried on. 

Perrot whispered to him, and now he turned and 
looked at Gering with a malignant steadiness. 

“ You have had the great honour, sir,” he said, 
“ to kill one of the bravest gentlemen of France. 
More than once to-day myself and my friend here ” — 
pointing to Perrot — “could have killed you. Why 
did we not? Think you that you might kill my 
brother, whose shoe latchet were too high for you? 
Monsieur, the sum mounts up.” His voice was full 


238 


THE TRAIL OP THE SWORD. 


of bitterness and hatred. “ Why did we spare you ? ” 
he repeated, and paused. 

Gering could understand Iberville’s quiet, vicious 
anger. He would rather have lost a hand than have 
killed Sainte-Helene, who had, on board the Maid of 
Provence, treated him with great courtesy. He only 
shook his head now. 

“ Well, I will tell you,” said Iberville. “We have 
spared you to try you for a spy. And after — after ! ” 
— his laugh was not pleasant to hear. 

“ A spy ? It is false ! ” cried Gering. 

“ You will remember, monsieur, that once before 
you gave me the lie ! ” 

Gering made a proud gesture of defiance, but an- 
swered nothing. That night he was lodged in the 
citadel. 


CHAPTER XX. 


A TRAP IS SET. 

Gerikg was tried before Governor Frontenac and 
the full council. It was certain that he, while a 
prisoner at Quebec, had sent to Boston plans of the 
town, the condition of the defences, the stores, the 
general armament and the approaches, for the letter 
was intercepted. 

Gering’s defence was straightforward. He held 
that he had sent the letter at a time when he was a 
prisoner simply, which was justifiable ; not when a 
prisoner on parole, which was shameless. The tem- 
per of the court 'was against him. Most important 
was the enmity of the Jesuits, whose hatred of Puri- 
tanism cried out for sacrifice. They had seen the 
work of the saints in every turn of the late siege, and 
they believed that the Lord had delivered the man 
into their hands. In secret ways their influence was 
strong upon many of the council, particularly those 

( 239 ) 


240 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


who were not soldiers. A soldier can appreciate 
bravery, and Gering had been courageous. But he 
had killed one of the most beloved of Canadian offi- 
cers, the gallant Sainte-Helene ! Frontenac, who 
foresaw an end of which the council could not know, 
summed up, not unfairly, against Gering. 

Gering’s defence was able, proud, and sometimes 
passionate. Once or twice his words stung his judges 
like whips across their faces. He showed no fear; 
he asked no mercy. He held that he was a prisoner 
of war, and entitled to be treated as such. So strong, 
indeed, was his pleading, so well did his stout courage 
stand by him, that had Count Frontenac balanced 
in his favour he might have been quit of the charge 
of spying. But before the trial Iberville had had 
solitary talk with Frontenac, in which a request was 
repeated and a promise renewed. 

Gering was condemned to die. It was perhaps the 
bravest moment of a brave life. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said, “ I have heard your sen- 
tence, but, careless of military honour as you are, you 
will not dare put me to death. Do not think because 
we have failed this once that we shall not succeed 
again. I tell you that if, instead of raw Boston 


A TRAP IS SET. 


241 


sailors, ploughmen, and merchant captains, and fish- 
ing craft and trading vessels, I had three English 
warships and one thousand men, I would level your 
town from the citadel to the altar of St. Joseph’s. I 
do not fear to die, nor that I shall die by your will ; 
but, if so, ’twill be with English loathing of injustice.” 

His speech was little like to mollify his judges, 
and at his reference to St. Joseph’s a red spot showed 
upon many cheeks, while to the charge against their 
military honour, Frontenac’s eyes lighted ominously. 
But the governor merely said, “You have a raw 
temper, sir. We will chasten you with bread and 
water ; and it were well for you, even by your strange 
religion, to qualify for passage from this world.” 

Gering was taken back to prison. As he travelled 
the streets he needed all his fortitude, for his fiery 
speech had gone abroad, distorted from its meaning, 
and the common folk railed at him. As chastening, 
it was good exercise ; but when now and again the 
name of Sainte-Hel6ne rang towards him, a cloud 
passed over his face ; that touched him in a tender 
corner. 

He had not met Iberville since his capture, but 
now, on entering the prison, he saw his enemy not a 


242 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


dozen paces from the door, pale and stern. Neither 
made a sign, but with a bitter sigh Gering entered. 
It was curious how their fortunes had . sea-sawed the 
one against the other for twelve years. 

Left alone in his cell with his straw and bread and 
water, he looked round mechanically. It was yet 
afternoon. All at once it came to him that this w r as 
not the cell which he had left that day. He got up 
and began to examine it. Like every healthy prison- 
er, he thought upon means and chances of escape. 

It did not seem a regular cell for prisoners, for 
there was a second door. This was in one corner and 
very narrow, the walls not coming to a right angle, 
but having another little strip of w r all between. He 
tried to settle its position by tracing in his mind the 
way he had come through the prison. Iberville or 
Perrot could have done so instinctively, but he was 
not woodsman enough. He thought, however, that 
the doorway led to a staircase, like most doors of the 
kind in old buildings. There was the window. It 
was small and high up from the floor, and even could 
he loosen the bars, it were not possible to squeeze 
through. Besides, there was the yard to cross and 
the outer wall to scale. And that achieved, with the 


A TRAP IS SET. 


243 


town still full of armed men, he would have a perilous 
run. He tried the door : it was stoutly fastened ; the 
bolts were on the other side ; the keyhole was filled. 
Here was sufficient exasperation. He had secreted a 
small knife on his person, and he now sat down, 
turned it over in his hand, looked up at the window 
and the smooth wall below it, at the mocking door, 
then smiled at his own poor condition and gave him- 
self to cheerless meditation. 

He was concerned most for his wife. It was not 
in him to give up till the inevitable w r as on him, and 
he could not yet believe that Count Frontenac would 
carry out the sentence. At the sudden thought of 
the rope, — so ignominious, so hateful — he shuddered. 
But the shame of it was for his wife, who had dissi- 
pated a certain selfish and envious strain in him. 
Jessica had drawn from him the Puritanism which 
had made him self-conscious, envious, insular. 


CHAPTER XXL 


AN UNTOWARD MESSENGER. 

A few days after this, Jessica, at her home in 
Boston, — in the room where she had promised her 
father to be George Gering’s wife, — sat watching the 
sea. Its slow swinging music came up to her through 
the October air. Not far from her sat an old man, 
his hands clasping a chair-arm, a book in his lap, his 
chin sunk on his breast. The figure, drooping help- 
lessly, had still a distinguished look, an air of honour- 
able pride. Presently he raised his head, his drowsy 
eyes lighted as they rested on her, and he said, “ The 
fleet has not returned, my dear? Quebec is not yet 
taken ? ” 

“ No, father,” she replied, “ not yet.” 

“ Phips is a great man — a great man!” he said, 
chuckling. “ Ah, the treasure ! ” 

Jessica did not reply. Her fingers went up to her 
eyes ; they seemed to cool the hot lids. 

( 244 ) 


AN UNTOWARD MESSENGER. 


245 


u Ay» ay, it was good,” lie added, in a quavering 
voice, “ and I gave you your dowry ! ” 

Now there was a gentle, soft laugh of delight and 
pride, and he reached out a hand towards her. She 
responded with a little laugh which was not unlike 
his, but there was something more : that old sweet 
sprightliness of her youth, shot through with a haunt- 
ing modulation —almost pensiveness, — but her face 
was self-possessed. She drew near, pressed the old 
man’s hand, and spoke softly. Presently she saw 
that he was asleep. She sat for some time, not stir- 
ring. At last she was about to rise and take him to 
his room, but hearing noises in the street she stepped 
to the window. There were men below, and this 
made her apprehensive. She hurried over, kissed the 
old man, passed from the room, and met her old serv- 
ant Hulm in the passage, who stretched out her hand 
in distress. 

“ What is it, Hulm ? ” she said, a chill at her 
heart. 

“ Oh, how can I tell you ! ” quoth the woman. 
“ Our fleet was beaten, and — and my master is a 
prisoner.” 

The wife saw that this was not all. “ Tell me 


246 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


everything, Hulm,” she said trembling, yet ready for 
the worst. 

“ Oh, my dear, dear mistress, I cannot ! ” 

“ Hulm, you see that I am calm,” she answered. 
“ You are only paining me.” 

“ They are to try him for his life ! ” She caught 
her mistress by the waist, but Jessica recovered in- 
stantly. She was very quiet, very pale, yet the 
plumbless grief of her eyes brought tears to Hulm’s 
face. She stood for a moment in deep thought. 

“ Is your brother Aaron in Boston, Hulm ? ” she 
asked presently. 

“ He is below, dear mistress.” 

“ Ask him to step to the dining-room. And that 
done, please go to my father. And, Hulm, dear 
creature, you can aid me better if you do not 
weep.” 

She then passed down a side staircase and entered 
the dining-room. A moment afterwards Aaron Hulm 
came in. 

“ Aaron,” she said, as he stood confused before her 
misery, “ know you the way to Quebec ? ” 

“ Indeed, madam, very well. Madam, I am sor- 


AN UNTOWARD MESSENGER. 


247 

“ Let us not dwell upon it, Aaron. Can you get a 
few men together to go there ? ” 

“ Within an hour.” 

“Very well, I shall be ready.” 

“You, madam — ready? You do not think of 
going ? ” 

“ Yes, I am going.” 

“ But, madam, it is not safe. The Abenaquis and 
Iroquois are not friendly, and ” 

“ Is this friendly ? Is it like a good friend, Aaron 
Hulm? Did I not nurse your mother when ” 

He dropped on one knee, took her hand and kissed 
it. “ Madam,” he said loyally, “ I will do anything 
you ask ; I feared only for your safety.” 

An hour afterwards she came into the room where 
her father still slept. Stooping, she kissed his fore- 
head and fondled his thin grey hair. Then she spoke 
to Hulm. 

“ Tell him,” she said, “ that I will come back soon : 
that my husband needs me, and that I have gone to 
him. Tell him that we will both come back — both, 
Hulm, you understand ! ” 

“ Dear mistress, I understand.” But the poor soul 

made a gesture of despair. 

17 


248 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


“It is even as I say. We will both come back,” 
was the quiet reply. “ Something as truthful as God 
Himself tells me. — Take care of my dear father — I 
know you will; keep from him the bad news, and 
comfort him.” 

Then with an affectionate farewell she went to her 
room, knelt down and prayed. When she rose she 
said to herself, “ I am thankful now that I have no 
child.” 

In ten minutes a little company of people, led by 
Aaron Hulm, started away from Boston, making for a 
block-house fifteen miles distant, where they were to 
sleep. 

The journey was perilous, and more than once it 
seemed as if they could not reach Quebec alive, but 
no member of the party was more cheerful than Jes- 
sica. Her bravery and spirit never faltered before the 
others, though sometimes at night, when lying awake, 
she had a wild wish to cry out or to end her troubles 
in the fast-flowing Richelieu. But this was only at 
night. In the daytime action eased the strain, and at 
last she was rewarded by seeing, from the point of 
Levis, the citadel of Quebec. 

They were questioned and kept in check for a 


AN UNTOWARD MESSENGER. 249 

time, but at length Aaron and herself were let cross 
the river. It was her first sight of Quebec, and its 
massive, impregnable form struck a chill to her heart : 
it suggested great sternness behind it. They were 
passed on unmolested towards the Chateau St. Louis. 
The anxious wife wished to see Count Frontenac him- 
self and then to find Iberville. Enemy of her country 
though he was, she would appeal to him. As she 
climbed the steep steps of Mountain Street, worn with 
hard travel, she turned faint. But the eyes of curious 
folk were on her, and she drew herself up bravely. 

She was admitted almost at once to the governor. 
He was at dinner when she came. When her message 
was brought to him, his brows twitched with surprise 
and perplexity. He called Maurice Joval, and ordered 
that she be shown to his study and tendered every 
courtesy. 

A few moments later he entered the room. W on- 
der and admiration crossed his face. He had not 
thought to see so beautiful a woman. Himself an old 
courtier, he knew women, and he could understand 
how Iberville had been fascinated. She had arranged 
her toilette at Levis, and there were few traces 
of the long, hard journey, save that her hands and 


250 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


face were tanned. The eloquence of her eyes, the sor- 
rowful, distant smile which now was natural to her, 
worked upon the old soldier before she spoke a word. 
And after she had spoken, had pleaded her husband’s 
cause and appealed to the nobleman’s chivalry, Fron- 
tenac was moved. But his face was troubled. He 
drew out his watch and studied it. 

Presently he went to the door and called Maurice 
Joval. There was whispering, and then the young 
man went away. 

“ Madam, you have spoken of Monsieur Iberville,” 
said the governor. “Years ago he spoke to me of 
you.” 

Her eyes dropped, and then they raised steadily, 
clearly. “ I am sure, sir,” she said, “ that Monsieur 
Iberville would tell you that my husband could never 
be dishonourable. They have been enemies, but noble 
enemies.” 

“ Yet, Monsieur Iberville might be prejudiced,” 
rejoined the governor. “ A brother’s life has 
weight.” 

“A brother’s life!” she broke in fearfully. 

“ Madame, your husband killed Iberville’s 


brother.” 


AN UNTOWARD MESSENGER. 251 

She swayed. The governor’s arm was as quick 
to her waist as a gallant’s of twenty-five : not his to 
resist the despair of so noble a creature. He was 
sorry for her; but he knew that if all had gone as 
had been planned by Iberville, within a half-hour this 
woman would be a widow. 

With some women, perhaps, he would not have 
hesitated : he would have argued that the prize was 
to the victor, and that, Gering gone, Jessica would 
amiably drift upon Iberville. But it came to him that 
she was not as many other women. He looked at his 
watch again, and she mistook the action. 

“ Oh, your excellency,” she said, “ do not grudge 
these moments to one pleading for a life — for jus- 
tice.” 

“ You mistake, madame,” he said ; “ I was not 
grudging the time — for myself.” 

At that moment Maurice J oval entered and whis- 
pered to the governor. Frontenac rose. 

“ Madame,” he said, “ your husband has escaped.” 

A cry broke from her. “ Escaped ! escaped ! ” 

She saw a strange look in the governor’s eyes. 

“ But you have not told me all,” she urged ; “ there 
is more. Oh, your excellency, speak ! ” 


252 THE trail of* the sword. 

“ Only this, madame : he may he retaken 
and ” 

“ And then ? What then ? ” she cried. 

“ Upon what happens then,” he as drily as regret- 
fully added, “ I shall have no power.” 

But to the quick searching prayer, the proud elo- 
quence of the woman, the governor, bound though he 
was to secrecy, could not be adamant. 

“ There is but one thing I can do for you,” he said 
at last. “ You know Father Dollier de Casson ? ” 

To her assent, he added, “ Then go to him. Ask 
no questions. If anything can be done, he can do it 
for you ; that he will I do not know.” 

She could not solve the riddle, but she must work 
it out. There was the one great fact: her husband 
had escaped. 

“You will do all you can do, your excellency?” 
she said. 

“ Indeed, madame, I have done all I can,” he said. 

With impulse she caught his hand and kissed it. 
A minute afterwards she was gone with Maurice 
Joval, who had orders to bring her to the abbe’s 
house — that, and no more. 

The governor, left alone, looked at the hand that 


AN UNTOWARD MESSENGER. 253 

she had kissed and said, “ Well, well, I am but a fool 
still. Yet — a woman in a million! ” He took out his 
watch. “ Too late ! ” he added. “ Poor lady ! ” 

A few minutes afterwards Jessica met the abbe on 
his own doorstep. Maurice Joval disappeared, and 
the priest and the woman were alone together. She 
told him what had just happened. 

“ There is some mystery,” she said, pain in her 
voice. “ Tell me, has my husband been retaken ? ” 

“ Madame, he has.” 

“ Is he in danger ? ” 

The priest hesitated, then, presently inclined his 
head in assent. “ Yes.” 

“ Once before I talked with you,” she said, “ and 
you spoke good things. You are a priest of God. I 
know that you can help me, or Count Frontenac 
would not have sent me to you. Oh, will you take me 
to my husband ? ” 

If Count Frontenac had had a struggle, here was 
a greater. First, the man was a priest in the days 
when the Huguenots were scattering to the four ends 
of the earth. The woman and her husband were 
heretics, and what better were they than thousands of 
others? Then, Sainte-Hel£ne had been the soldier- 


254 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


priest’s pupil. Last of all, there was Iberville, over 
whom this woman had cast a charm perilous to his 
soul’s salvation. He loved Iberville as his own son. 
The priest in him decided against the woman ; the 
soldier in him was with Iberville in this event — for 
a soldier’s revenge was its mainspring. But beneath 
all was a kindly soul which intolerance could not 
warp, and this at last responded. 

His first words gave her a touch of hope. 

“ Madame,” he said, “ I know not that aught can 
be done, but come.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


FKOM TIGER’S CLAW TO LIOH’s MOUTH. 

Every nation has its traitors, and there was an 
English renegade soldier at Quebec. At Iberville’s 
suggestion he was made one of the guards of the 
prison. It was he that, pretending to let Gering win 
his confidence, at last aided him to escape through 
the narrow corner-door of his cell. 

Gering got free of the citadel — miraculously, as he 
thought; and, striking off from the road, began to 
make his way by a roundabout to the St. Charles 
River, where at some lonely spot he might find a boat. 
No alarm had been given, and as time passed his 
chances seemed growing, when suddenly there sprang 
from the grass round him armed men, who closed in, 
and at the points of swords and rapiers seized him. 
Scarcely a word was spoken by his captors, and he 
did not know who they were until, after a long de- 
tour, he was brought inside a manor-house, and there, 

( 255 ) 


256 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


in the light of flaring candles, faced Perrot and Iber- 
ville. It was Perrot who had seized him. 

“ Monsieur,” said Perrot, saluting, “ be sure this is 
a closer prison than that on the heights.” This said, 
he wheeled and left the room. 

The two gentlemen were left alone. Gering folded 
his arms and stood defiant. 

“ Monsieur,” said Iberville, in a low voice, “ we 
are fortunate to meet so at last.” 

“ I do not understand you,” was the reply. 

“Then let me speak of that which was unfor- 
tunate. Once you called me a fool and a liar. We 
fought and were interrupted. We met again, with 
the same ending, and I was wounded by the man 
Bucklaw. Before the wound was healed I had to 
leave for Quebec. Years passed ; you know well how. 
We met in the Spaniards’ country, where you killed 
my servant ; and again at Fort Rupert, you remember. 
At the fort you surrendered before we had a chance 
to fight. Again, we were on the hunt for treasure. 
You got it ; and almost in your own harbour I found 
you, and fought you and a greater ship with you, and 
ran you down. As your ship sank you sprang from it 
to my own ship — a splendid leap. Then you were 


FROM TIGER’S CLAW TO LION’S MOUTH. 257 

my guest, and we could not fight; all — all unfor- 
tunate ! ” 

He paused. Gering was cool; he saw Iberville’s 
purpose, and he was ready to respond to it. 

“And then?” asked Gering. “Your charge is 
long — is it finished ? ” 

A hard light came into Iberville’s eyes. 

“ And then, monsieur, you did me the honour to 
come to my own country. We did not meet in the 
fighting, and you killed my brother.” Iberville 
crossed himself. “ Then ” — his voice was hard and 
bitter — “ you were captured ; no longer a prisoner of 
war, but one who had broken his parole. You were 
thrown into prison, you were tried and condemned to 
death. There remained two things : that you should 
be left to hang, or an escape — that we should meet 
here and now.” 

“ You chose the better way, monsieur.” 

“ I treat you with consideration, I hope, mon- 
sieur.” 

Gering waved his hand in acknowledgment, and 
said, “ What weapons do you choose ? ” 

Iberville quietly laid on the table a number of 
swords. 


258 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


“ If I should survive this duel, monsieur,” ques- 
tioned Gering, “ shall I be free ? ” 

“ Monsieur, escape will be unnecessary.” 

“ Before we engage, let me say that I regret your 
brother’s death.” 

“ Monsieur, I hope to deepen that regret,” an- 
swered Iberville quietly. Then they took up their 
swords. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


AT THE GATES OF MISFORTUNE. 

Meanwhile the abbe and Jessica were making 
their way swiftly towards the manor-house. They 
scarcely spoke as they went, but in Jessica’s mind was 
a vague horror. Lights sparkled on the crescent shore 
of Beauport, and the torches of fishermen flared upon 
the St. Charles. She looked back once towards the 
heights of Quebec and saw the fires of many homes — 
they scorched her eyes. She asked no questions. The 
priest beside her was silent, not looking at her at all. 
At last he turned and said — 

“ Madame, whatever has happened, whatever may 
happen, I trust you will be brave.” 

“ Monsieur l’Abbe,” she answered, “ I have trav- 
elled from Boston here — can you doubt it ? ” 

The priest sighed. “ May the hope that gave you 
strength remain, madame ! ” 

A little longer and then they stood within a gar- 

( 259 ) 


260 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


den thick with plants and trees. As they passed 
through it, Jessica was vaguely aware of the rich fra- 
grance of fallen leaves and the sound of waves wash- 
ing the foot of the cliffs. 

The abbe gave a low call, and almost instantly 
Perrot stood before them. Jessica recognised him. 
With a little cry she stepped to him quickly and 
placed her hand upon his arm. She did not seem 
conscious that he was her husband’s enemy : her hus- 
band’s life was in danger, and it must be saved at any 
cost. 

“ Monsieur,” she said, “ where is my husband ? 
You know. Tell me.” 

Perrot put her hand from his arm gently, and 
looked at the priest in doubt and surprise. 

The abbe said not a word, but stood gazing off 
into the night. 

“W r ill you not tell me of my husband?” she re- 
peated. “ He is within that house?” She pointed to 
the manor-house. “He is in danger; I will go to 
him.” 

She made as if to go to the door, but he stepped 
before her. 

“Madame,” he said, “you cannot enter.” 


AT THE GATES OF MISFORTUNE. 


261 


J ust then the moon shot from behind a cloud, and 
all their faces could be seen. There was a flame in 
Jessica’s eyes which Perrot could not stand, and he 
turned away. She was too much the woman to plead 
weakly. 

“ Tell me,” she said, “ whose house this is.” 

“ Madame, it is Monsieur Iberville’s.” 

She could not check a gasp, but both the priest 
and the woodsman saw how intrepid was the struggle 
in her, and they both pitied. 

“ Now I understand ! Oh, now I understand ! ” 
she cried. “ A plot was laid. He was let escape that 
he might be cornered here — one single man against a 
whole country. Oh, cowards ! cowards ! ” 

“ Pardon me, madame,” said Perrot, bristling up, 
“ not cowards. Your husband has a chance for his 
life. You know Monsieur Iberville — he is a man all 
honour. More than once he might have had your hus- 
band’s life, but he gave it to him.” 

Her foot tapped the ground impatiently, her hands 
clasped before her. “ Go on ! oh, go on ! ” she said. 
“ What is it ? why is he here ? Have you no pity, no 
heart ? ” She turned towards the priest. “ You are 
a man of God. You said once that you would help 


262 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


me make peace between my husband and Monsieur 
Iberville, but you join here with his enemies.” 

“Madame, believe me, you are wrong. I have 
done all I could : I have brought you here.” 

“ Yes, yes ; forgive me,” she replied. She turned 
to Perrot again. “It is with you, then. You helped 
to save my life once — what right have you to destroy 
it now? You and Monsieur Iberville gave me the 
world when it were easy to have lost it ; now when 
the world is everything to me because my husband 
lives in it, you would take his life and break mine.” 

Suddenly a thought flashed into her mind. Her 
eyes brightened, her hand trembled towards Perrot, 
and touched him. “ Once I gave you something, 
monsieur, which I had worn on my own bosom. That 
little gift— of a grateful girl, tell me, have you it 
still?” 

Perrot drew from his doublet the medallion she 
had given him, and fingered it uncertainly. 

“ Then you value it,” she added. “ You value my 
gift, and yet when my husband is a prisoner, to what 
perilous ends God only knows, you deny me to him. 
I will not plead ; I ask as my right. I have come 
from Count Frontenac; he sent me to this good 


AT THE GATES OF MISFORTUNE. 263 

priest here. Were my husband in the citadel now I 
should be admitted. He is here with the man who, 
you know, once said he loved me. My husband is 
wickedly held a prisoner ; I ask for entrance to him.” 

Pleading, apprehension, seemed gone from her; 
she stood superior to her fear and sorrow. The priest 
reached a hand persuasively towards Perrot, and he 
was about to speak, but Perrot, coming close to the 
troubled wife, said, “ The door is locked ; they are 
there alone. I cannot let you in, but come with me. 
You have a voice — it may be heard. Come.” 

Presently all three were admitted into the dim 
hallway. 


18 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


1ST WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED. 

How had it gone with Iberville and Gering ? 

The room was large, scantily, though comfortably, 
furnished. For a moment after they took up their 
swords they eyed each other calmly. Iberville pres- 
ently smiled : he was recalling that night, years ago, 
when by the light of the old Dutch lantern they had 
fallen upon each other, swordsmen, even in those 
days, of more than usual merit. They had practised 
greatly since. Iberville was the taller of the two, 
Gering the stouter: Iberville’s eye was slow, calculat- 
ing, penetrating ; Gering’s was swift, strangely vigil- 
ant. Iberville’s hand was large, compact, and supple ; 
Gering’s small and firm. 

They drew and fell on guard. Each at first 
played warily. They were keen to know how much 
of skill was likely to enter into this duel, for each 
meant that it should be deadly. In the true swords- 

( 264 ) 


IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED. 265 

man there is found that curious sixth sense, which is 
a combination of touch, sight, apprehension, divina- 
tion. They had scarcely made half a dozen passes 
before each knew that he was pitted against a master 
of the art — an art partly lost in an age which better 
loves the talk of swords than the handling of them. 
But the advantage was with Iberville, not merely 
because of more practice,— Gering made up for that 
by a fine certainty of nerve, — but because he had a 
prescient quality of mind, joined to the calculation of 
the perfect gamester. 

From the first Iberville played a waiting game. 
He knew Gering’s impulsive nature, and he wished to 
draw him on, to irritate him, as only one swordsman 
can irritate another. Gering suddenly led off with a 
disengage from the carte line into tierce, and, as he 
expected, met the short parry and riposte. Gering 
tried by many means to draw Iberville’s attack, and, 
failing to do so, played more rapidly than he ought, 
which was what Iberville wished. 

Presently Iberville’s chance came. In the care- 
lessness of annoyance, Gering left part of his sword 
arm uncovered, while he was meditating a complex 
attack, and he paid the penalty by getting a sharp 


266 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


prick from Iberville’s-sword point. The warning 
came to Gering in time. When they crossed sword 
again, Iberville, whether by chance or by momentary 
want of skill, parried Gering’s disengage from tierce to 
carte on to his own left shoulder. 

Both had now got a taste of blood, and there is 
nothing like that to put the lust of combat into a 
man. For a moment or two the fight went on with 
no special feat, but so hearty became the action that 
Iberville, seeing Gering flag a little, — due somewhat 
to loss of blood, — suddenly opened such a rapid at- 
tack on the advance that it was all Gering could do 
to parry, without thought of riposte, the successive 
lunges of the swift blade. As he retreated, Gering 
felt, as he broke ground, that he was nearing the wall, 
and, even as he parried, incautiously threw a half- 
glance over his shoulder to see how near. Iberville 
saw his chance, his finger was shaping a fatal lunge, 
when there suddenly came from the hallway a 
woman’s voice. So weird was it that both swords- 
men drew back, and once more Gering’s life was wait- 
ing in the hazard. 

Strange to say, Iberville recognised the voice first. 
He was angered with himself now that he had paused 


IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED. 267 

upon the lunge and saved Gering. Suddenly there 
rioted in him the disappointed vengeance of years. 
He had lost her once by sparing this man’s life. 
Should he lose her again ? His sword flashed upward. 

At that moment Gering recognised his wife’s voice, 
and he turned pale. “ My wife ! ” he said. 

They closed again. Gering was now as cold as he 
had before been ardent, and he played with malicious 
strength and persistency. His nerves seemed of iron. 
But there had come to Iberville the sardonic joy of 
one who plays for the final hazard, knowing that he 
shall win. There was one great move he had reserved 
for the last. With the woman’s voice at the door 
beseeching, her fingers trembling upon the panel, 
they could not prolong the fight. Therefore, at the 
moment when Gering was pressing Iberville hard, the 
Frenchman suddenly, with a trick of the Italian 
school, threw his left leg en arriere and made a lunge, 
which ordinarily would have spitted his enemy, but at 
the critical moment one word came ringing clearly 
through the locked door. It was his own name, not 
Iberville, but — “ Pierre ! Pierre ! ” 

He had never heard the voice speak that name. 
It put out his judgment, and instead of his sword 


268 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


passing through Gering’s body it only grazed his 
ribs. 

Perhaps there was in him some ancient touch of 
superstition, some sense of fatalism, which now made 
him rise to his feet and throw his sword upon the 
table. 

“ Monsieur,” he said cynically, “ again we are un- 
fortunate.” 

Then he went to the door, unlocked it, and threw 
it open upon Jessica. She came in upon them trem- 
bling, pale, yet glowing with her anxiety. 

Instantly Iberville was all courtesy. One could 
not have guessed that he had just been engaged in a 
deadly conflict. As his wife entered, Gering put his 
sword aside. Iberville closed the door, and the three 
stood looking at each other for a moment. Jessica 
did not throw herself into her husband’s arms. The 
position was too painful, too tragic, for even the great 
emotion in her heart. Behind Iberville’s courtesy 
she read the deadly mischief. But she had a power 
born for imminent circumstances, and her mind was 
made up as to her course. It had been made up 
when, at the critical moment, she had called out Iber- 
ville’s Christian name. She rightly judged that this 


IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED. 269 

had saved her husband’s life, for she guessed that 
Iberville was the better swordsman. 

She placed her hands with slight resistance on the 
arms of her husband, who was about to clasp her to 
his breast, and said, “ I am glad to find you, George.” 
That was all. 

He also had heard that cry, “ Pierre,” and he felt 
shamed that his life was spared because of it — he 
knew well why the sword had not gone through his 
body. She felt less humiliation because, as it seemed 
to her, she had a right to ask of Iberville what no 
other woman could ask for her husband. 

A moment after, at Iberville’s request, they were 
all seated. Iberville had pretended not to notice the 
fingers which had fluttered towards him. As yet 
nothing had been said about the duel, as if by tacit 
consent. So far as Jessica was concerned it might 
never have happened. As for the men, the swords 
were there, wet with the blood they had drawn, but 
they made no sign. Iberville put meat and wine and 
fruit upon the table, and pressed Jessica to take 
refreshment. She responded, for it was in keeping 
with her purpose. Presently Iberville said, as he 
poured a glass of wine for her, “ Had you been 


270 THE trail of the sword. 

expected, madame, there were better entertain- 
ment.” 

“Your entertainment, monsieur,” she replied, 
“has two sides,” — she glanced at the swords — “and 
this is the better.” 

“ If it pleases you, madame.” 

“ I dare not say,” she returned, “ that my coming 
was either pleasant or expected.” 

He raised his glass towards her, “ Madame, I am 
proud to pledge you once more. I recall the first 
time that we met.” 

Her reply was instant. “ You came, an ambassador 
of peace to the governor of New York. Monsieur, I 
come, an ambassador of peace to you.” 

“Yes, I remember. You asked me then what was 
the greatest, bravest thing I ever did. You ever had a 
buoyant spirit, madame.” 

“ Monsieur,” she rejoined, with feeling, “ will you 
let me answer that question for you now? The 
bravest and greatest thing you ever did was to give a 
woman back her happiness.” 

“ Have I done so ? ” 

“ In your heart, yes, I believe. A little while 
ago my husband’s life and freedom were in your 


IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED. 271 

hands — you will place them in mine now, will you 
not ? ” 

Iberville did not reply directly. He twisted his 
wineglass round, sipped from it pleasantly, and said, 
“ Pardon me, madame, how were you admitted here ? ” 

She told him. 

“ Singular, singular ! ” he replied ; “ I never knew 
Perrot fail me before. But you have eloquence, 
madame, and he knew, no doubt, that you would 
always be welcome to my home.” 

There was that in his voice which sent the blood 
stinging through Gering’s veins. He half came to 
his feet, but his wife’s warning, pleading glance 
brought him to his chair again. 

“ Monsieur, tell me,” she said, “ will you give my 
husband his freedom ? ” 

“ Madame, his life is the State’s.” 

“ But he is in your hands now. Will you not set 
him free? You know that the charge against him is 
false — false ! He is no spy. Oh, monsieur, you and 
he have been enemies, but you know that he could 
not do a dishonourable thing.” 

“ Madame, my charges against him are true.” 

“ I know what they are,” she urged earnestly “ but 


272 


THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. 


this strife is not worthy of yon, and it is shaming me. 
Monsieur, you know I speak truly.” 

“You called me Pierre a little while ago,” he 
said ; “ will you not now ? ” 

His voice was deliberate, every word hanging in its 
utterance. He had a courteous smile, an apparent 
abandon of manner, but there was devilry behind all, 
for here, for the first time, he saw this woman, fought 
for and lost, in his presence with her husband, beg- 
ging that husband’s life of him. Why had she called 
him Pierre ? Was it because she knew it would touch 
a tender corner of his heart? Should that be so — 
well, he would wait. 

“ Will you listen to me?” she said, in a low, gentle 
voice. 

“ I love to hear you speak,” was his reply, and he 
looked into her eyes as he had boldly looked years 
before, but his gaze made hers drop. There was 
revealed to her all that was in his mind. 

“ Then, hear me,” she said slowly. “ There was a 
motherless young girl. She had as fresh and cheer- 
ful a heart as any in the world. She had not many 
playmates, but there was one young lad who shared 
her sports and pleasant hours who was her good 


IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED. 273 

friend. Years passed ; she was nearing womanhood, 
the young man was still her friend, but in his mind 
there had come something deeper. A young stranger 
also came, handsome, brave, and brilliant. He was 
such a man as any girl could like and any man admire. 
The girl liked him, and she admired him. The two 
young men quarrelled; they fought; and the girl 
parted them. Again they would have fought, but 
this time the girl’s life was in danger. The stranger 
was wounded in saving her. She owed him a debt — 
such a debt as only a woman can feel ; because a 
woman loves a noble deed more than she loves her 
life — a good woman.” 

She paused, and for an instant something shook in 
her throat. Her husband looked at her with a deep 
wonder. And although Iberville’s eyes played with 
his glass of wine, they were fascinated by her face, 
and his ear was strangely charmed by her voice. 

“ Will you go on ? ” he said. 

“The three parted. The girl never forgot the 
stranger. What might have happened if he had 
always been near her, who can tell — who can tell? 
Again in later years the two men met, the stranger 
the aggressor — without due cause.” 


274 THE trail of the sword. 

“ Pardon me, madame, the deepest cause,” said 
Iberville meaningly. 

She pretended not to understand, and con- 
tinued : 

“ The girl, believing that what she was expected 
to do would be best for her, promised her hand in 
marriage. At this time the stranger came. She saw 
him but for a day, for an hour, then he passed away. 
Time went on again, and the two men met in battle — 
men now, not boys ; once more the stranger was the 
victor. She married the defeated man. Perhaps she 
did not love him as much as he loved her, but she 
knew that the other love, the love of the stranger, 
was impossible — impossible. She came to care for her 
husband more and more — she came to love him. She 
might have loved the stranger — who can tell ? But 
a woman’s heart cannot be seized as a ship or a town. 
Believe me, monsieur, I speak the truth. Years again 
passed : her husband’s life was in the stranger’s hand. 
Through great danger she travelled to plead for 
her husband’s life. Monsieur, she does not plead for 
an unworthy cause. She pleads for justice, in the 
name of all honourable warfare, for the sake of all 
good manhood. Will — will you refuse her?” 


IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED. 275 

She paused. Gering’s eyes were glistening. Her 
honesty, fine eloquence, and simple sincerity, showed 
her to him in a new, strong light. Upon Iberville, 
the greater of the two, it had a greater effect. He sat 
still for a moment, looking at the woman with the 
profound gaze of one moved to the soul. Then he 
got to his feet slowly, opened the door, and quietly 
calling Perrot, whispered to him. Perrot threw up 
his hands in surprise and hurried away. 

Then Iberville shut the door, and came back. 
Neither man had made any show of caring for their 
wounds. Still silent, Iberville drew forth linen and 
laid it upon the table. Then he went to the window, 
and as he looked through the parted curtains out 
upon the water — the room hung over the edge of the 
cliff — he bound his own shoulder. Gering had lost 
blood, but weak as he was he carried himself well. 
For full half an hour Iberville stood motionless while 
the wife bound her husband’s wounds. 

At length the door opened and Perrot entered. 
Iberville did not hear him at first, and Perrot came 
over to him. “ All is ready, monsieur,” he said. 

Iberville, nodding, came to the table where stood, 
the husband and wife, and Perrot left the room. He 


276 THE trail of the sword. 

picked up a sword and laid it beside Gering, and then 
waved his hand towards the door. 

“ Yon are free to go, monsieur,” he said. “ You 
will have escort to your country. Go now — pray, go 
quickly.” 

He feared he might suddenly repent of his action, 
and going to the door, he held it open for them to 
pass. Gering picked up the sword, found the belt and 
sheath, and stepped to the doorway with his wife. 
Here he paused as if he w T ould speak to Iberville : 
he was ready now for final peace. But Iberville’s 
eyes looked resolutely away, and Gering sighed and 
passed into the hallway. Now the wife stood beside 
Iberville. She looked at him steadily, but at first he 
would not meet her eye. Presently, however, he did so. 

“ Good-bye,” she said brokenly, “ I shall always 
remember — al ways. ” 

His reply was bitter. “ Good-bye, madame : I 
shall forget.” 

She made a sad little gesture and passed on, but 
presently turned, as if :she could not bear that kind of 
parting, and stretched out her hands to him. 

“ Monsieur — Pierre ! ” she cried, in a weak, chok- 
ing voice. 


IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED. 277 

With impulse he caught both her hands in his and 
kissed them. “I shall — remember, Jessica,” he said, 
with great gentleness. 

Then they passed from the hallway and he was 
alone. He stood looking at the closed door, but 
after a moment went to the table, sat down, and 
threw his head forward in his arms. 

An hour afterwards, when Count Frontenac en- 
tered upon him, he was still in the same position. 
Frontenac touched him on the arm and he rose. The 
governor did not speak, hut caught him by the 
shoulders with both hands, and held him so for a 
moment, looking kindly at him. Iberville picked up 
his sword from the table and said calmly — 

“ Once, sir, you made it a choice between the 
woman and the sword.” 

Then he raised the sword solemnly and pressed his 
lips against the hilt-cross. 


THE END. 






















* 




















































... 





















































































* 





































































* 














' » » * 




• ' » *» 










: . u, » • 








- r * 1 1 








i 






; . / . . t ■> 4 -. 

3 , * * % 

* 



^ : - i^r . , 

■ \ 

».* qj> 








* 

r •/' ■' ■* ' 

' * ‘ j 

<■ ■ < : 

. 

' V. ■ 

■ ... - > - 4 





s 




b 

r. 

. 1 : 

• ^St h % f, * >:* 


... ■' ■ tf- < 


* ' ->*" 

- £ <* . % fj -* &>*? . 

■ 

■ 

. ' ' /-J 

■ * . T* v s'* 

' ■# * -j ., ’A. ’ 



,<• y* - ,.'••• 

* , - s 

; ‘ - ■ ; ■ •« ' , 

T, ' 

■"* , .. : 

- - 


- *’ • ; ' ■ 

; ■'* 

• > : , . «, ; 

" • ” > -> •' . • t, 

r ■ 

* , * u ; “• *«2r ‘ • t **- 

. ' .% 

I - - < 




• ■ 

- 9 














